Windmill frenzy happenstance
Parked in pregnant gallant lance-staked cages.

Pages of paper from only old news
Eschewed all agenda
Bend build in propaganda and human feelings.

So long on coast of oceans had we plants,
and waiting for silk, love, and gold to float our way

It played upon stars, ajar in the air from old collisions.

So provisions placed for me only seem to be stories and memory.