The sparrows outside have silenced their fawn
the seeds left scattered untouched from this dawn
for alas, a season ago were they last fed
The blades in the ground have wasted
the water offered leaving no dry thirst sated
no other blame; with soil dried three months past
Ah—‘tis a shame that all is asleep, Morpheus
but there exists nothing to be done now—concede one must
when the sparrows have stopped their song.
Abstraction is Always
Abstraction is always two floors above me;
ruled for climbing the first flight is language
perplexing, is it, that the means to ascend
hampered by reason, lie sole in impulse.
RGS Journal 