Apogee

Should tardy relief take full years more To grace fallen visages with angst taut, Let kind nature her multiplied joys hone, And gild final grins past art's fickle fault. May saddest souls that now fret most Gleam with heaven's grandest succor, No more numbed by fear's fake ghost; Free from inky mists and bleak rancor. The gloomiest of hearts down with care Shall glitter under jubilation's final glare, And forget prickly sorrow's ghastly pain; Wholly unafraid of shame's broken train. He'll his victorious head at last carry high After blacking ignominies and stigmas go; None shall Art's virgin blossoms blight so, Killing fresh dreams whose sign inch nigh. This star-crossed champ at last shall reign, And his chafing fan her dead cheers regain.