You have a god with powerful right arm,
waving hammer to forge a tiger's fearful symmetry.
You know the perfect state of equation,
the sweet energy and the pale sanity.
My Lady's left-handed wrist is weak and weary.
out of this frail form trying to find hope of a new shape,
she shattered my life and soul with a blow no heavier than pen.
Then scared by the hollowness unpenetrable, she wept
for her dying furnace and mediocre craft.