Often the tang of the orange sunset shimmers, as if to fall
forever and never return;
After the moon shadows twilight infinity dance, we allocate
a new arrival as a location for dinner, and within these
words lay no temptations;
Feet wander into the blanketed fog leaving behind
measuring distances of those who may not return;
Gasping for the light, and withering in soil-life among the
living has all but given in to the fray;
Upon the writing another writing, yielding to no ancestor-
nor giving unto no higher authority-
And the last words were placid to the maker of water-
destination to the weary-fear unto the following.
The Peal was written in scorn at a time when mankind
was immature to worldly needs-armies grew out of
incinuous assault like a battering of a monsterous
heaving.
