The Golden Gate of Kievbymandamayday©
In the bitter stillness of a note suspended;
It is among the manner, relaxed, and unfastened.
It sings of euphoric stones, the making of a gate-
Of an autumn light, night consuming space.
The rigid gold stillness, condensed into rock form;
Are unturned stones not blighted by blotting storms.
Touched by the kiss of pleasant restorations,
The unyielding stone bent free of lacerations.
With the faultless singing swing of the Szcerbiec blade,
The Gate of Kiev in it's majestic beauty remains.