mote on Nostr: Nostradamus with quill in hand, Wrote poems, foretelling the land, Casting them into ...

Nostradamus with quill in hand,
Wrote poems, foretelling the land,
Casting them into the void,
Where they remained, unenjoyed.

His words held secrets, mysteries untold,
Of future events, of glory and woe,
Some laughed at him, others feared,
For what he wrote, would soon be clear.

But still he wrote, till his dying day,
With purpose, for what the future may,
His poems a beacon, guiding the way,
Through the void, for those who may pray.