Tilling For a Songless Song

In the mazy thicket of thoughts I search With the fork of foresight on cloudy march I pick meaningless pebbles from eerie plane Meaning hisses at the futile chase of fussy lane All doorsteps lintel-ling and leading to the most sought clue none is rock and rilled across anthers of the age-long hue Yet, life minstrels museless must trudge through the parks Crowded by thorough thronging noisome marks I must search for missing meaning along this boulevard Of naked plumes wishing, waiting for the rush-roller yard. ii In the mazy marble of thoughts we search With the fork of foresight on clueless march We pick meaningless pebbles from eerie plane Meaning hisses at the futile chase of limpid lane All doorsteps lintel-ling and leading to the most sought clue None is rock and riled through thronging of the age-long hue Yet, life minstrels museless must trudge through the parks Crowded by thorough darting noisome marks We must search for missing meaning along this boulevard Of naked plumes wishing, waiting for the rush-hour yard Waiting all along Tilling for a songless song