Song is over and over and over. Voice ends; music, never. Song keeps tryst wherever winds blow, aeons hover. High, low in cloud, clover, breath is still melody's mover out of deafness. Listen, savor whole note, semi-quaver, quarter-rest the respite-giver. Work of flint, will of fever sound the pitch of pure endeavor. Life my time my tune-engraver limns me forth a flowing river mountains lose, seas recover. Sun my light my sheer preserver breathes me forth, air's survivor. Day, my summons over and over and over, dawns again st the louver.