The Refined

There are warriors that conquer vain blood

There is wind that sculpts the ridges

There is wine to disperse gravity

A bird and his prey balance the forest

All is utilized then; all is changed

As the Indian sheds his gratitude in the maiden morn

He is forgiving the earth for his short days

As the moon turns anew

‘Tis time to forget and make a great peace

The slow and timely churns

The smooth and noble face is always tailored by erosion

There is water polishing stones

All is time to make it known

The yield is but never seen

The presence of all is perfected serene