Roses over the farm
With machines to watch
Liberty is a quiet worth, in long marches
With tact to establish, and wantonness to match?

Working for an undue cloud, is like this
A host of wishes so profound...
Without any habit oft heed, for comparative bliss?
Of a human choice, in the shadows of a world

We grow the obvious
And harvest the complex, complete to winks
And stinks of the nowhere, many in seldom to discuss
The wages of simplicity, to know a character of what is...

Arts of the ******, wish for more...
Aches of intellect, service an ideal...
Acts of ingenue, know a craving host for order...
'And the scope of justice in the land, is it all and sanity, to heal?

Wounds of the ley, the avarice of a noble land?
Has stood, and begun the counting
Of a worthier wish than a clash of energy's at hand
With the pleasance of meager insight to keep, is suicide pouting?