An icy, ragged, lashing word Tore off the crown of leaves. Spoiled the weightless.
MMXVII
An icy, ragged, lashing word
Tore off the crown of leaves.
Spoiled the weightless.
Poured Tin into it.
Can this really be the End?
And the summer went.
Our time has passed.
We need to. A no-show.
Foreordained.