Where my mind is walking, on common grounds,
People know me, they hear my sounds,
Taking part in parcels, my eyes see farther,
Asking whit you know, the path gets darker,
For one and all, so the sayings go,
Around every brook, you doth step yon toe.
Crossing waters, it seemeth a marching order,
Flotilla’s drumbeats flood, knocking on your door,
Giving up mild disgrace, unheard at all hours,
Wearing a noble face, the disgruntled powers,
Striking out each knell, in time with nature’s call,
Ringing the bells, incense clouds the golden shawl.
Shrouded in misbelief and fool Hardy tells,
Aging stories that were once written as spells.
How find this outspoken silence with no name,
Our history shows us glimmers of the spiral game,
When we need to change, the score is readable,
So that humble folks, can see what’s breathable.