Believe me when I say the wind
Has blown away this warm regard
For all that atrophies but lives
Among the early daffodils
That wreathe the path of discontent
We walk upon until such time
As welcomes every sort of thread
In one large fabric warp and woof
And there it is.

Amalgamated perfidy
That's lost among the wild grass
The paths of where we meant to be
So long forgotten no one knows
Where they might be or ever were
But words are just as good as things
And images beat either one
When thoughts allowed are tribal first
And there we are.