The circular golden entrance gong strikes twice
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ever so mute,
followed by visions of a musical Cimarron.
The majestic oriental palace of old lives again.
Beat on, glad drum,
the fair princess has come from her astral beach.
Royalty such as this world will never know
transcends the room
which eagerly awaits the presence of a Great One.
Her beloved followers fall prostrate before her
but will not recall her in awe in their next life.
Clashing again so softly with glorious beauty,
seeps into and drugs the adoring minds.
But the fate-ship lies anchored in the still bay.
Beat not, sad drum,
for all must fade when the wax melts down.
Copyright © 1995 James D. Young