'Tis an old sorcerer
Searching for what hath lost
Amongst the sands of time
Wondering
Scratching thy ancient beard
Grey. Dust. Smoke.
Darting eyes watery from
The dew drops
Amongst the pain of what hath left him behind
Forlorn. Ole Joe had long gone
Josephine, her tiny fingers last
But Thameena, Andrena, Guam.
Them stuck as
The last of the flames
Took the blame for the cranes
Too cruel for a willow.
Too cruel for a willow.
Years had gone by the millennia

Yet the sorcerer stands alone.
Searching.