A slow day winds time around the carousel of coloured wing
in bravery of common dure rare spoken curious to things,
hope steals back its charge and harbours none to its remains,
as fast as the wills demise on the ivy's climb, fawned to the nature of worlds , come flocking to the aviary of avarice stood proud upon the pummel stone of stature, beat bent to the final crick and fractured spurn, taken leave of now's nobility , unfurled in precious turn, ******* on the captains shire, as the seven seas play slight of hand oer the mystery of fire