Having believed all Things were possible, I must Now apply the test Ever onward do I fall, expecting Laws of Gravity reversed. Plunging into this
The tree’s leaves plucked by Wind, thus, tree is simplified So am I made one.
Walking slowly home Smell of rain, darkening clouds, Thunder’s low rumble.
How maddeningly does The ghastly rascal race through The desert wastelands
Feathered fronds above Green the light diffusing through This September morn.
Tiny maracas Played by cicadas liven The late summer chill.