Will Poem by Eoghan Rua Finn

Will



My only want in all that's holy;
To be crowned.
'As much he frowned- he smiled,
Though he fled and grew wild.'

Great peace at last
Came to close the box.
He asked; ' What Beast so desperate
As to claim the Fox? '

My spirit now waking-
Spiraled Peter's iron wrought-
Making cups from fingers,
'Rest in Peace' the last he caught

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