by John Lars Zwerenz
Thy hand hath clasped my own.
Below my castle's vine clad stone,
By the melodious, murmuring, purple sea,
I shall wander wherever you shall go,
In Elysian fields of gilded snow.
Let mellifluous, regal canticles play
From holly green mountains which surround
Vast, marble courtyards where the flowing sound
Of their airs touch fountains in the diamond day.
Hail liberty, grace and chardonnay!
JOHN LARS ZWERENZ