The world bursts forth into a restless Spring
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All taut and thrumming with the din of arms
The Eagle's praises all the heralds sing
For beak and talon do make potent charms.
And yet in this arena strides no man
Upon whose brow a laurel could be laid
What hero spends the wealth of his life's span
To win a game which never should be played?
The sons and daughters of the sinking Sun
Still read the epics wrought in rocky isles
And thus we know the victor's will be done
But only on the just does Heaven smile.
I watch the Sun change clouds to gilded fleece,
and dream the myths and Gods of ancient Greece.
We do not see things as they are - we see them as we are. - Anais Nin