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Photos by: Jessica Yurasek
Chess in the Parkr.
Washington Square, New York City
Vous Etes Pres de Moi, Embrassant et Embrass6s
By: Patrick Jones
Daily Photographer
I am but a lonely troubadour,
And welcome to my kingdom
Please bout the vastness of the land
Which youthful dreams and wishes mounts
This is my sacred, courtly realm-
Here life and wonderment account.
When morning peaks to cease the night
Amidst this square's most silent trees
To my bespoken throne I come,
Me aching back and heart appease.
This playing field upon my hands
To these scholars is but stone,
But whence the evening's ray doth flare,
This field - in truth! - has vernal grown.
Upon its breast stands firm my king
And noble are his trusted squires,
With valor doth his Queen contend,
To flood - amaze! - the foe's most haughty sires.
Yet in this quiet fantasy,
The enduring will of the valiant drowns,
For here, the world at which you rest,
Falls - when wind blows at its ancient crowns.
Oh, is my kingdom but a dream?
Does lifelessness withhold this peace?
Do battles rage and great minds toil
So faith, the touched merely cease?
Nay! This is not a tragedy!
Lucent still these whims effect
Look! The land has sung its grace,
Alone, depart I till the dawn -
To again this kingdom resurrect.
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