misstonio

As much as your sides arch revealing histories of indentions and blastmarks, still your stature does not bend, your look of assurance such and ever still like the sun

You roughened warfaring carriage, sawing over the brazen growing dunes,

You seaswept deepsailing vessel, mirroring the darkness of the waves licking you

You will outlast my awe-inspired heart, and should my great-grandson ever glimpse you,

So too his own, It will be that long, and I can’t say more, before that Timespun Suitor finishes your enclosed slow dance and hands you over to your waiting Groom, Archetypal Space

May then your Silver Hearth always shine