In twilight’s grasp, where shadows play,
A poet dreams of endless day,
With words that dance, both fierce and bright,
In realms of dark and realms of light.
Beneath the moon’s soft, silver glow,
He paints the worlds we long to know,
Through whispers of the unseen truth,
In ancient lore and timeless youth.
His visions, wild, through time traverse,
In every line, the universe,
With angels’ wings and tigers’ might,
He crafts the dawn from endless night.
O Blake, whose spirit never fades,
Your legacy in worlds cascades,
In every heart, in every dream,
Your echoes of eternity gleam.