Through the panes of glass the castle astounds the spring of hills.
Subdued beneath the tall and limbered pines - like toothpicks aghast at Autumns warring,
the rains and winds and quivering leafs of colors grasp with whirling breeze by chance.
The boulders hulk has walled the brush , the square farm -studding its beige of shadowed rocks,
broken to what's been done and drenched with the decay of woods lay solemn to the dignity of my birth and of our age and to her - the natural earth the world endeavors to move forward.
Paired up to restful sleep onto doing all of nothing heart remembered.
The great powers upon the land he knows - some trust of spread reflections.
If then if that a fowl or man a solitude to stand unshackled by mid-noon sun or motionless forever.
that blooming tree and line stone - while making love to fun - disturbed the hills with great delights - a ballast that surly held a pond where little angels lived.
Choose the rendered gift I gave through panes of glass unfettered.
You belong to more than one of noble cause.
Poor man , child or sprouting women .
Ourselves pursued and picked left open thus fallen to the frameworks hands the sliver watch ,
whence all the past grew clearer.
With this in nothing more to say - stay with me to finally well , above the ridge of stone.
Beneath the tumbling green leaf I hear the tic -a tock of the married clocks ,One end to mar- the
bells , this astral world - for sure a starry gimbal's valley - the crimson lamp at dusk.
Tender air cold around the sighs of hope - Antiquity's of western passage ,I noticed not myself
as usual a wanderer of other things - poor wretch , a rule upon an object what is are if, not yet I am,
yet well to think against the day.
Beyond a doubt from room to room their nick-names were very old and loved.
a back bone of a hammers bridge had reclosed the windows peep.
As neighbors searched the break of day to view the side-long lighted hill,
still on my way - I'll give you this - the gimbal's vase upon the cries of rice.
To I am yours to up the hill - the downhill ditch plain to see, loaded with the golden leafs ,
rotting by their moans of joy and sorry to the Fall.
Won't be coming back till winter and its ribbons snows has melted in the springs - that's all.
Lament/ HC 10/10/17