So speak you witness of imperfect art,
Refined in fire, yet, as such unmade;
Birthed from the recess of my heart
And faith, from humble eloquence portrayed:
I am, to wit, your muse of poetry,
A canvas for your words made flesh.
Light revealing in you mystery,
Creating you in me, a palette fresh
Of colours radiating fire at the dawn--
I surrendered, passion not excluded,
Love with mercy's tender quill-pen drawn,
And therewithin corruption's stain precluded.
To you I pledge the whole of my desire,
Our souls alight eternal in Mother's fire.

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Midsummer, in the year 207 MA.