.
Younglings mass about
An elder, gray as voices,
Unbidden, true as losses,
Before winning, hopeless
As an birdling before flight,
Great as truth before might,
So many stories taken down
And the papers all lie, sullied
On the ground, when will love
Overtake, when will righteous
I remake?  Songs loved be sung,
Hung out to dry in burning dust
Of never a daisy under sunshine?
For truth, justice and the pursuits
Of happiness is such a fragile thing,
Youngling make sures under skies of
Purity, sweetest, strong, frail, nothings.