while the good shepherds grieve
their innocence of faith in a gold-horns mouth.
all the dears depart
long-handled pike\'s more reverend than salt.
the longest grain that spouts the god of flame.
it is once again great spring-time
through the origins of straw.
no name-sake ever poorer
than the pickled eggs of yellow trout
down-stream in heavens camelot
through the cycle of each optimistic mind.