in the beginning with the pale milk
rejoicing in full view for unsettled mouths
bright steel from the belly\'s of the Oak
perfect poise awaiting a masters fall;
the tallest ships sailing through the concrete snare
there are no fractions. only fragments of the key
lost in the lochs when once became
splinters for the eyes of papered stare;
in cold clay when once a buzzard swam
no life of fossil yet has fueled beyond
the stammer of the loitering cloud
the sudden thrust of thistles upon the night;
these days where hides the all
no more than just a brewing nonetheless
breathe still as dust and darkness rise
in perfect poise, await the masters fall;
let death stain the colour of brick
let the moors live in peace
upon the Bronte Stones Walk
leave alone three hearts in the flowers their poetry lives;