The King does not give up the dead Yet Orpheus goes down to sing The serpent stung, the woman bled The King had claimed his prize, the dead— The doubting harper turned his head. Death has not yet lost its sting The King keeps still his prize, the dead And Orpheus no longer sings.
His harp is hidden in the tree His heart is buried with his wife He plays on it and quiets beasts The harp is singing in the trees The day he her again did see His heart, his hope, his love, his life The harp is lifted from the tree His risen heart pursues his wife.
Also I am ALWAYS impressed by your form poems
Have you listened to Orpheus by Sara Barellies?