The soaring strain of music disturbs;
The flowing rhyme amid this wintry morn,
This thought pounds the mind nevertheless
The myriad others already written.
The magnanimity of imagination to eclipse
This hollow span reigned by stagnation unruly,
And shine fresh thoughts for my pleasure
To record the annals with narration poetry.
The sighing of the fifth time this very hour;
Like a smothered artist wanting to voice his talent,
Soon in time`s accord the stage is Summer
And all cheer in ovations,this too`ll see light.
It does not matter how many times you fall
But how many times you rise from the fall.
