| Procession |
| So stale and curs'ed Yonder wind breaks Her blue and torrent airs North... With swift injustice Long and neatly tucked away In a maiden's ethos Delivered again by the Traveling terminal disorder A tear for the ginger-man. O, harsh, too harsh Muted empathy, in recollection Of a funeral dirge Some thougts emerge Gazing out the work window Following the leaves Being carried away in her Crackling, smokey gale. North, always North Sunbeams and headlights Racing up behind Perchance, to kiss The wind and her Salty tears once more. But she has already gone Her cankered cells and sepal ashes Journey on, Beyond Analyzation, disintegration Obscure vision, and after verse A calm remains Reclaims the Earth Driving away In nature's hearse. A new leaf falls And West, she blows With it, the answers And her spirit there goes. |