The Wind
They seek to know
When the yolk is
eaten, does the folly
exceed what is reaped.
Yet they had knew,
since he had left
the hawk no longer
feels the harsh feign.
He couldn’t have known
from the bitter sky,
the crackled moon had
be taken the shy sun.
Their lack of knowledge
was the unsavory production
of the wet ringing
present in ancient myth.
Told before but no,
uncaptured in transparent conscious.
To see glutton wind
is a trifling thing.