Nostradamus
Working late at night,
The seer gazes into time:
Through a water bowl.
In private study,
He trembles in his robe as-
Foresight...fills the room.
Through late night vigils;
Divine splendor set to page:
He foretells of time.
Fanciful visions,
In the countless prophecies;
Bizarre imagery.
One-thousand quatrains,
Layered with lurid details:
Keenly...camouflaged.
Bold...obscure verses,
Flow with brave trepidation:
From a ceaseless quill.
With his astrolabe,
His poetic prophecies-
Speak of disaster.
Visions of dear days,
Recorded on parchment by-
The hand of a sage.
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