For humans are weak to a heaven incoming
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Angels and sailors
The outlander
whose empire, weathered,
is now in ruins.
The bitterness of a lemon
An incest died of poison
Where is the mother?
A land without spices, nor water
But that river of gold
does no longer flow
And that fabric of Rome
Dyes today not into purple
That path of sages,
a symbol of ages.
A hundred prophets, flooded in the city for rain
Followed that scent, unto the desert we went
Once there were travelers in red
lost they became, three to the west