The most obvious for the wolf will stun the sheep.


Watching a killed winter sprout frozen in crap

thus recognizing the directly born down to be grave embraced


The poor young woods, now be they thick or thinly grown,

in a dingbat condition turning to their defiance

wherein withering itself takes all time; their crown…



so enigmatically agreeing with hardest experiences,

grown upon a boulder with the roots visible all around

of false conclusions; doubt, aversion, sorrow, weakness and miseries,

therein words mostly can offer up some old half measures for pity,

barely just enough to flatter with;

weak in Reality


These fully daydreamed danced on a night old ice ―

grossly favoured products so freed from virtue,

hold freedom in hope

for pitiful saving after evil deeds,

for youth’s dumbness wastes youths fire away


Real friends! Wounds come to be before suffering

and is rarely covered by the fact that done is done

where it is fought after to eat the thistles

and being most qualming thrall-food rolled in dirt;

there death will never come too soon