Mirroring salted sweat of limes.
Dreadful long march creeped and galloped.
No home seek looms.
A half way of death.
Quadruped war for nothing.
Tremor feet seek a poplar silhouette.
Shaded shadow similar to angel's wing.
Rain, snow, wind, sunlight , eyes dropped.
Mom, our mansard roof missed us.
he heard the golden trumpets calling
sounds coming from an empty mansard
as heat rises over his copper head
over his eponymous cosmos
the maker of secular arts
shall fall before he could rise for the first time
only because there's a leak sur le jardin
the maker shall fall deep down
bound to his cloaked heart of starkness
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