A brother once witness a paint in the sky
gleaming back unto him the world strongest picture
he left, forsaking not the beauties behind the horizon
rising thence early,with the news of the scenery.
Then I was on an Iroko
well-laid straight,my head pillowed
resting on damp and the brook cedron over a branch
where in the which I could gaze
somewhat- an amazing morning, which so
gleaming back unto me the world strongest picture.
The memory stand still in me
a giant gold statue
in a museum
telling me tomorrow he will be there.