The bards’ sapience had supplied the world sea

With epics of mortals and gods from old myth.

Melodic words rippled in poetry’s pith,

Arriving on shore next to Cynic’s bent knee.

He cupped up some water, and tried to agree

With virtuous verses by lyrical smiths—

To fathom the crux, need he climb monoliths?

Alas, he found poetry tough on esprit.

But through salty drops, a relative part

Gave meaning, then as if on cue,

One verse, unabridged, undiluted, and true,

Revealed its intentions inside of his heart.

He walked up the sea cliff with poetry’s key,

Then Cynic dove in and became Devotee.

—Lauren Clifford

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Read more about Clifford here.