Inkling

I hear cheering chimes pealing far, Beyond travails' veneers which blur Tomorrow's rainbow scenes' glare; Robing in glooms fine seasons fair. Which wise to thank knows not I As gold-dew greets from the sky, Ushering in fresh starts on slates Of pristine lot after fiercest fates. Ahead still skulk facades dull, Portending night's faking pains; Posing askew out of envies null, Shrouding rays on morn's plains. Yet what eyes of flesh mayn't espy, See ones within of crystalline light; Untwisting stars cast in dims to die; Shaming jets that soot ivories white. And whilst at last loom shiny sights Of respite hour's rarest viands' bites, I'll hugest vollies of unmetered joys Lilt past all ears and cherubs' voice.