Flutes and Timbrels...

Flutes and timbrels reek from everywhere. So the springtime is open and fair. Gingling is so reduced to small rattling. Angels are at the loops of their cradles. Rare thirst and refined, sharp starvation. I observevthe angelic invasion. Sip the nevtar of theses voiceful quiors. Do exceed, with your soul, - lutes and lyres. Strings attached and out feigned, all expired. Oh, that tune was once eagerly hired. Angels taught their harmony rare Our souls, blank and unaware Of that outer fuss at the heaven. That ninth sky is let out for its hunting. Uncommitted, turn worthiest blunders. Oh that first from within to beyond, yet. I sip up the ambrosia's ointment. I am all reconciled with the space blue. Constellations, I'm daily exhaling. Universes appear, out of fingers. Angels are well-taught, accurate singers. It takes lives, to learn fresher ideas. It's a world between hopes and tears. Idle crowds mind small occupations. We are humbled with anticipation. Angels lurk, soaring at wintry feathers. At our shore, we are waiting for weather. It takes little, to get all awakened. Eyes are empty and endlessly vacant. Not preferred are archangels, to cupids. Hearts are lazy, all-abscent and stupid. 2022