The month has tumbled over,
Now anew to mark the calendar's face,
Like aged wrinkles from a tale of time,
That draws you into wandering thoughts,
That beckons you to think upon the lines.

Sharpened gaze,
On Month's meadow anew,
Seconds seem to snap into view,
Slowing down before my haze struck mind,

You fiendish beast,
How dare you trample ordered minds,
And crash on ancient shores unsaid,
Why, come follow me on winding hills,

You cannot grasp these heels of mine,
My 'prints not simply yours to tread,
You wish to bend my ordered lines,
But dreams of other kinds burn deep within.