That place of obscurity,
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Just an excerpt of my dream.
Barely having shown me,
She reviles or so it would seem.
Coming, glimpsing, leaving,
A departure with hasty grace.
And my vague images dying,
a fading land, a fading face.
Her voice, a lighted spill of hope,
A name that rings in my ears.
Though the explicitness harnessed by a rope,
Even mere chance shall obliterate he fears.
And lo! Like a surge of knowledge then,
Oriana, the name did appear,
Forever in whose mind shall it wedge,
For the one full of hope that will forever persevere.
Neal E. Wakeman