At a crossroads we write the left
Unburdened and unabashed, we are felt!
As a clumsy hand balancing tarnished copper
But we think it brass and boldly she calls
"Sit for this metallic weight is straining!"
On words we wonder, curious what lies behind.
The ground at our zenith, no wonder
We mislabel worms as stars, praise them great,
Quaking creeks sound as ants in our clogged ears.
"Uncork your wines, fellows; age more yields grey
Though we feel it golden."