Literati

He saw an angel in a tree
Veiled in sweet mystery.

He saw a demon in the sky
While the lightning strikes went by.

He wrote a poem of anarchy
And Ozymandius' tyranny.

She saw goblins under her star
Selling fruits in a bizarre bazaar.

He compared her to a summer's day
When rough winds shook the buds of May.

He saw his shadow on the floor
A raven knocking at his door.

He wrote of death in a gaol of shame
For the sake of a love that spoke no name.

She wrote of bright, untroubled skies
Breathing heath, and fireflies.

A curlew taught him there can't be
A single soul that lacks beauty.

What of these prophets?
Where are they now?
Wandering their divine diocese?
The earth may tire of me and thee
But it will never tire of these.