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| By Lamplight and Jazz I Toil | |
| By Brett | ||||||||||||||
| 06 April 2008 | ||||||||||||||
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I wrote this during the frustration I felt of becoming stuck on a ballad that I'm working on (I have over 30 stanzas down, and am not a third of the way through the narrative). I'm sure you will be ecstatic to learn that this is another form of englyn, don't moan, blame patterjack. Englyn Crych to be precise. By Lamplight and Jazz I Toil By lamplight and jazz I toil, To what end does my blood boil? The foil to embedded verse. No great ballad to uncoil. By midnight and jazz I find Threads, though they be unrefined, Not blind in finding their way To place murder on my mind. By sunrise and Stardust; tales That roving ghosts shall bewail, And scale, humbly from the page, The mountains, the mists of Wales.
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