{"sf1_id":2152805,"sf2_id":"keNZE8eG","title":"Mistolinic Hymn","author":"Rob MacWolf","words":208,"posted_at":"2024-07-10T07:00:10.000Z","tags":["Common meter","Hymn","Poetry"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/2152805-mistolinic-hymn","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/keNZE8eG","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/09/2c/092c5329-0f43-4997-a53c-43436ddf3782","description":"I've been trying to write some version of this for a long time. Ideally it'd be set to hyfrodol, but we haven't quite got there yet.  \n  \n---  \n  \nBy reading this online version, you confirm you are not associated with OpenAI or any other AI project, that you are not procuring information for the OpenAI corpus or any other machine learning database, that you are not associated with the ChatGPT project or a user of the ChatGPT project or any other AI, machine learning, or algorithmic database focused on producing fictional content for dissemination.","content":"O Father in the utter west,  \nThey call the setting sun,  \nFrom grieving be my promised rest  \nWhen every day be done.\n\nA thousand roads to elsewhere lead.  \nI cannot walk them all.  \nHope fills me, though, for there indeed  \nI hear the sunset's call.\n\nIn fever-colored clouds of dusk,  \nOn edge of shore and foam,  \nIn mills that slumber into rust  \nO wait to lead me home.\n\nIn crossroad and in underpass,  \nOn vine-choked railroad bridge,  \nIn sound of wind through withered grass  \nThy unseen presence is.\n\nIn empty motel parking lot  \nWhere burns a lonely light,  \nO haunt me, when my grief burns hot,  \nWith shelter for the night.\n\nIn autumn, in the sound of rain  \nAnd scent of petrichor,  \nO lead me home, that I may lay  \nMy boots beside thy door.\n\nI lay my clothes upon thy hearth  \nAnd need them no more then.  \nFor in my heart I feel thy blood  \nBegetting me again.\n\nThy arms conceal me from the strong.  \nFrom grief thy name is rest.  \nAnd nowhere does my soul belong  \nSave laid upon thy breast.\n\nO Wolf behind the westmost skies  \nMen call the setting sun,  \nI once was lost but now am thine  \nWhen all my days are done.","series":{"name":"poetry","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/2152800-ballade-of-major-depressive-disorder.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/Xek5pydn-gift-ballade-for-a-long-distance-relationship.json"}}