Run, fall and get up but Portraits are not pictured.
All things placed with movements of fingers look down at toes only to wonder ;
Of questions that seam through groves leaving worms and dirt in friendly shoes.
It's no begging or request but no eyes lift up to appreciate.

Thy garden is thine own with no fragrances throned.
It's not what thine does but is not what is done as others do.
It is to be different but expectations don't differ.
As thy ought to be cheese that be easy to slice as well rot.  

No truth to be seen in close proximity but a fake city in all it's vanity.
Positions and steps with words profound Every inch and move is as a hound;
To be cured of fallings and errors bred.

For each move in thine thought endings are to be fed
As Portraits belong to sequestered sets.