The hand is played agape,
All learnings spent in wittering,
For to the tune of many cards,
My mind along its tracks becomes,
A spacious place.

Dripping all my essence into these forms,
Which barren strike the notion of dampness,
Scorching like the noonday sun with its rays,
Each fizz I care to give 'till I am spent.

I haven't been in the attic for a while,
Nor today or yesterday,
Likely not tomorrow even for a smile,
For I say - I say good riddance,
To burrowed nuts and bolts with style,
Odd bits and boxes can stay hidden,
Neatly in great towering piles.

Mirrors in the muddy grass,
And your glory permeates the land,
The light hangs like pearls -
Drooping off the edges of leaves,
They seem burdened under the weight,
Yet hold it with pristine elegance,
And their brilliance warms the day,
Even on the ground you place glistening gems,
Catching wanding sunlight and storing it,
Resplendent on their gleaming heads,
The light falls gently now,
And the shadows seem brighter,
All the while your beauty triumphs in the dimming days.