With this twisted, little constable you call a friend,
You scatter fro to find the end,
With open spaces left to fill,
Imaginative canvas spills,
Upon the ground in such a way,
To satiate the calming sway of evergreens and frozen pines,
Providing to your humble shrine,
A gift of immortality,
Stripped of its virility,
'Till seven days pass along the channels of your mind,
You'll weep for such affinity...