- Old rotten tin bell time
You chime and call out sublime
Through the ancient tinder blood
That I should and heaven would
Bless and yet decline and remain
Without haste or word malign
- Breathing lest you consort with older wyrd
What meadow is not left unshod?
To dour god and flouring moods
With freckles and long auburn hair
Where banshee heckles in the air
Speckled with dire urchin broods
- Freya comes leaves and sensual arts falling
Butter wings and gleams of honey
Ghost trodden amongst the mud
All fabric done old naked stream
To be begotten and so understood
Glut for the chase and the dream
- The sun ship falls in broken emerald stairs
Begun now to feel listless ache
A chance meeting in the darksome
This wanton kiss not to be fulsome
Such a glance to poison all aboard
Shun feltings earthly sail skyward