Picture: Landscape With Wonderer by Thomas Fearnley
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Long have I roam’d and spoke in praise of You.
For love of peril, I rode my good bikes
Relentlessly, without a thing to do.
The stars have witness’d me on boundless hikes.
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Your silver quill on boughs of linden trees
Do write the verse I cannot seem to read.
Too sharp, too thin, Your hands on wings of bees
Delineate shapes I cannot seem to breed.
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But please refrain from thinking humans err.
Perspectives change and rearrange upon
This ball of dirt; they choose what they prefer
In every moment, which rock to roll on.
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The end of times is here for You to feast,
The clock is dead, long live the holy beast.
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Herons
Sunshower 