The Saint, The Beatitude, The Valentine

For stowed of her repertory, beyond airy asseveration, is beatitude
and her wherewithal is an arsenal, a treasure, a beacon to be revealed

Oh and he diddles, and he flattens, and dilettantely fribbles flightenly
A formalist is he, that one so expeditious to miniaturize, unwittingly knee deep

And so comes the drought, famine, and the flame, urgent is the call, but
true to form and shallow, his perfunctory charge cries unprofound, and anguish

I am the son, and nemisis, sent to sail and labor under the name of his father.
On the ocean, hurt, but in acquiesce to wait for your countenance to lift my sail

I give you a chantey, worthy and courtly annulet, a gem polished to be lionized
Efficaciousness is its harmony, epic and beyond the cajoling, the wheedling, the fool

As I lay and descant, it is with aleatory I sing, it is fate I study and finally her I see
Potent is love, hortatory is her beauty, with her boon gracefulness becomes the sea

Then abjure, then the fool, then the sufferer, then to martyr, he becomes the teacher
Beyond your abdication and exclude lies beauty and love; oh the saint, oh the valentine