And if that Western Isle
Is swallowed by the sea,
I'll seek another
Beneath some distant sky.
There I shall master time,
who yet has mastered me
in search for cliffs against the sea
and wind-swept wheat.
There beneath oak's golden shade
and salt breeze
might I lay this ancient longing
forever to sleep.
whatever the muse for such an ambiguous poetic experience, i like the product.
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