Leaves
The fall
so deep in
lowly light,
Brazen through the
billowing might.
The touch to touch
on fellow
friend
as falling
down on
woodland end.
Ride, sweep, ride
the billower
keeps
hold of things and all that
sleeps.
But sleepy woods
they tell no
lies
The truth
said Waldo,
needs no
spies.
And spies we are
against
the grain
to ravish
life
like Abel’s Cain.
But ravish we
don’t hear
weary sigh, oh weary sigh!
- instead forget to
self-rely.
Though man can cut
to hit
to cut
The cutting
stops
when Fallers rebut
the ease at which
false power
is shown
For with each hit
more Fallers
grown.
The Faller see,
never
fails.
The woods
long afterwards
prevail.
But if such
man
were to fight
the keep,
between
the Faller and mother’s
sleep,
Then let him be
for on his
neck
will hang no cross
just wormy
peck.
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