When blend of sight
eye the castes
of wondering's fall
whose pen is grey
by sleepless roar
may be the blight
of shining memories
strung or loosened flight
or just that lands
the curd saved from the whey ?
Half low and
screened of ageless stir
will sore meander
a sprawl of dismay
But who that crafts the
store will school
the shaken whirl
then adept can be
tall of the cruel