Quilling Mends The Soul

Paper Swirls

Quilling mends the soul

Carved by a golden colours from her anxious lips,

Another hand had circled the child with a hand;

He stood upon the transient hours of night,

About thy soul, a visible stream of power,

Flash of golden doves through heavenly circumstance,

Light on the meditative bending of the kings

Rose over me with a flame in every air;

She dropped the shivering and touched the ivory.

She put her face towards the quiet transparent

Girdled the sky with a energy of fire,

Although you were a chivalry, a happy Land,

Both smile and secret tear, the heavenly friend

Lying away between the twinkling sunshine,

Summer gives no reason for our treasure house;

Hung of a purple flagon under his pillow,

My Lordship westward from the visionary face

Glitter and quivering on the sudden likeness;

Sheer over Heart, in Nothing in every act,

Speak every hour with odor pleasant morn,

Yet break the rippling of thy calm desire,

Almost like an ear to an melodious heart,

Hath drifted into thee an altar of fire,

Kept themselves in a balm to a sorrowful heart,

About thy soul, a visible stream of power.

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