The wind waits for no man,
Nor tarries on steps of his fortune.
The tax man equates his ledger,
Ever wary of time that brings him none.
Great cities multiply and refuse to listen,
As pushcarts, filled with hubris,
Paint the sky with longlived hope for
There, above the laws written by man,
Unicorns, resplendant in ivory coats,
Wait patiently for seasons to bear fruit.
At last, as soldiers march into battle,
God protects what man cannot see.
And all the righteous must abide,
'Till winds once more,