Time Goblin
The young Strut about in the muck, like blind crows.
Plucking shiny things to fashion powerful machines.
To launch themselves into the hologram of dream...
While the old slowly row between wreaths and stones.
Faith, like a gull feather, drifts away into the foam.
The machine flaming out a long time ago.
As the goblin keeps time to the caw of the crow.
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