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Three-part concept-piece. Very much tongue-in-cheek. |
Of Sunborne Sacrifice I. The coffins of Sunborne trees Linger in the light of versimilitude and trial. Their hidden seed, cracked and blacken Twisted madly in drought, wit' de rot of untol' ages. Hard, crispt and unrepentent They feed, into de moat of thee weeping Child. Countless forest, still unboren Through athousand stories never to horizon. For now countless lands—too, are Are freed from the reign of Cunning-tree! II. Lands they'd hold Dirt mount, ash lake, And forgotten silvery glade If only they were to Catch root and seed They would cover all, everything In darkness and, Deterring shade. . . III. So spare us now, the tearful Child! For he does us good and wonderous deed He plucks from the Word A weeping, broken' sylabbalic creed, trueth ungreed, In Tongue to thanks the soil. And then chops low the dark, sinister forests of wood So lo, to, that he may extend: “Truth, Lightfulness, comfort, and sameness,” unto all about, At detrement only to seed, truely And too, unloving, huggableless tree—indeed! The World, so wide, so Heavenly. Advanced society, true gloriousness A blinding wonderment unto e'ery quarter lit! Now billowing sandboc, oh it stand A testiment to a Saintly greeding grief And how he sacrificed all for nought. But a lot of sand and a dust bowl-box. (Just for dust. . . just. . . Dust. . . A bit of dust. . . Just for dust.) |