More Ballad Meter

[Brownlie]

I blew a kiss toward the silver sweet
That hung its spotted face
In cooler airs that sound the rub
In darkened gentle space

In calmer times like these I burn
My belly full of drink
Imbibe the chiller air and breath
A moment in this ink

In easy breezes chains that sway
In forming daily airs
Are lost, allowing me to dive
Into the fabric’s tear

Dissecting all my mooring doubts
I find that nothing holds
And leaves me perched atop a brink
between without a soul

Suppose the warring winds are still
At war amidst this meek
And gentle guise of paling day
That masks a torrid sea

I fancy I will Never see
A cease to wrinkled waves
That reach to high cast rocks above
Beyond their grasping ways