obtuse plume
So far away beneath the Blue and Dime:
A ring of golden brown of noble’s crowns.
With sun and cinder, hide all sin with chime,
Reflects in lake ripples like silver gowns.
So long beneath the Bark and carpet Moss:
Let be the flower beds like roads of Oz.
Some bees twirl by earth's worms on damp soil gloss,
And dozen ducks watch’ed with an applause.
But on a limping bench disturbed by mould,
Lies a melting stone Soul so petrified.
Caved fingers with lips, colour bleached so cold,
The sun tempts skin - leaving rock ossified.
Once the moon cries its worth, and sun goes dry,
Will clouds crack the Earth, or moss moist the Eye?
keen cradle
weak hollow
hollow dawn