Practicing the pale polemic of a passioned passing soul

I watch and wait for footfalls that hold the words you stole

But for a fleeting instant as you carried me away

I stood, told those who would listen, "I have enough to say."



Where in the wounded wounded world would you go

If you had a bred considerance of faulty falling foes

The feeling of a foolish fancy stopped the driving train

>From staying tothe open path or wandering away



Steathily providing for a mint and winter snow

Pacing and complaining about where you have to go

Still you ask surrender and provide a pleasing pitch

But still releasing penalties and pointing out to which



Painful and pretending all I ask is that you stay

For seeing how the bundled birch reclines until the day

Be broken stance. The burning bough can offer us a way

To shout, befall, and broken fast the will will bring a way



Winding down the windy hollow breaking fast a blemish in the past

While a play of ends and over beckoning the power hold her fast

Pleasing all the fallow plunder, every night is sure to watch

Blue December marks the dust until wwe wept until the march

Studied plains of indecision as we wither by the stream

Of empty wood and hollow embers cast into our fading dream

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