There comes a time when rushing streams
Meet their end on outstretched crops
The clatter heard from all obtruse
Defies the senses foregone in lust
Maelstrom it has came to be
Winded piles of ash and dust
Sacred tombs of gutter snakes
Trampled, onward sunset falls
The grips of tangled blight unknown
Shall pass the moment, just ajar
As open doors and unmarked steps
The willow branch comes faded green
Happenstance to raging fires
Light is given, unbeguiled
This too,  will pass or so was said
Begone the miles yet ahead