i dreamnt of love and roses. pickled in the autumn grace. no longer spooked by the face. incense of thyme. riddle of wine. chasm of life. within bones, strife. I dreamnt of a maiden. As sweet as time. With milky skin. And braided vines. She washed my sole Of grim and grab took my danger with a stab. I see my Lord still life in trees, the wood the bark, ever seas. Of hell and whispers to those who chose no. I revel some more in this ancient snow. And drunkards and dwarfs to the gully parade. The phantoms of night seem yet wish to be saved. Upon a golden Christmas a treasure for good. Upon a steamboat driven for all who should. And lo upon that still hill divine, I found me a treasure, sublime.