Travelling throught he time of yore
a wisp of scent; fresh as dew
stolen away from the wine of my eyes
I stop to covet the sunken past

Ambling through the woods so grey;
misty forests of beauty; virgin
pines in glory seeking the stars;
I chance upon a mystic mire
awaiting a hand in turbid patience

its call to me as the earth ; so dry
parched and void as the lust in heaven;
of verdant promise - a barter of anchors

I looked about the stage awhile
seeking a ruse that would do me in
a gentle breeze and a sparrow’s call
sank with me in the promise so gentle
as witht he wind, I peered through it

while I drank, the spring my dreams
and fed the mire with my fruits of belief
a violent gust swept the wood aside
and the green lay in dusk, dark as my shadow.