Weather vane spinning, 'top a cupola.
Dark clouds amass , nest brood awaits;
styluses of designs,motifs of hope,
in hamlets encroaching the lakes,
And river ;
Deep, wide as skies, and reflecting the
same.
Names and words mean as much as....
"Sound"
the depths, twains, fathoms, and leagues;
Lachrymose paradise,
bequeathing life,
it seems,
These themes cease,
just an inkling,
before these hours
and day
and years
shatter,
into pieces,illumined,
joyously burning:
a broken weather vane falls,
and futilely points
back at our feet.
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