The Shadow

Have you been the short shadow on a wall,
when cruel night opens the gate of his eye;
sharp ears by soft tones not heard in the sky
fateful winter bidding us to our fall;

of a sacred conquest, an ogre slay
the winged horse found in a place,
by drawing lots on a summit of grace
ply three dogs' heads, a serpent's' tail that lay?

Remember the sun, the moon, and all stars
like chockful clouds stirred that their lights trickle,
coating one by one deeds we have thus far,

as a crown time will give you a sickle,
so you may till your plot, a realm bizarre
for your heart that though the sea is mickle.