AtLast_[07]

Hold the sky. As aging leaves retreat this hill, So planets flee my grip awry. Monsters of the orb seen churning, Stars in spirals unrecanted, Spinning all.

To all discerning It is I who lone stands planted.

I Alone Stand planted?

So winters come, winters go. More will come with more in tow And through the ageless swirling snows Duty yet upon me grows While I stand planted.

The drifts, that cant upon me, Fall.

As every surge and storm decays Righted steadfast in the squall, Instead of squalid or malaised,