The Dream of Sir Lot

In the forest of pines that was lush and divine

With its branches that twined as the river so swirled

Past the eyes of the people depending on gifts

Like the cuckoo left eggs for the sparrow to brood


In the world for the lineage living in hell

Where the lands were for hunters and water for souls

For the humans, however determined of mind

Were afraid they would drown if they drank from the source


Though it seemed like a bottomless terror, he plunged

Down towards the sleek corals of hope deep beneath

The soft tranquil of drips from the Tree in the Well

That eternally governed their lives, such was fate


They were born to a death that was spun in the web

Of the Lot of the grey ones, proclaiming free will

For his race of the grim and their offspring saw hope

From the bottom of eyes resolution did shine



Then a gleaming befell the beholders on the shore

As a shape in the river emerged from its depths

Through the skin, undulation in waves as it burst

The illusion, realm to the hunters of man


And the eyes of the spiders intrigued from the gleam

O the halos continued their echo through webs

That were weaved as the tales of Sir Lot, the Aspired

Who himself did so alter that fabric of night


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