Denuding the wintry scales
of a dragon loved in empty disgrace
did bring oblivion to its knees ‘fore the arch-way of self-rendition.
The elusive symptom summoned the tidal wave
of the titan in emerald turnt gray.
“No more stone frontage!”, cried the oracle behind the stage,
“Harness the glory of the sunken race
as the triple head of sovereignty manifest”.
“It is dangerous”, I said, “a peril and terror of the earthly depth”.
“I know the wraith’s caress”, the oracle emerged more or less;
“The ice age preserved the pulsations of the roots’ remains.
Silver and mercurial in sentiment,
he whose path is marked by watchful consciousness is bound to rule
or die by his own intellect”.