Teliost Language Services

Stepping forward into the ring,
There are no butterflies,
Only illusions thereof,
And as muscles clench,
One learns to remember
The first paragraph
Of Lady Chatterley—
Possess nothing,
No one, like wind—
And thus, the songbirds
Lift a melancholy smile
As one remembers
The birds’ belief to be,
Their song of free will,
It is their most beautiful one
As existence revolves around 
And forward, the light of the sun.