Tsk tsk tossed.
go out
Your suggestions.

Whisk whisk washed.
Flow south
Your directions.

Hiss hiss sorry.
No time for
sage reflections.

Songs you sang will not be sung
Nor any tales of length believed
The brain embodied in such young
Will think it he who first perceived

Who first made sparks?
From rocks to barks?
Blinding night and fooling fear?

Our first teacher
Godfather to fire
In this new day
remains unclear.


Realizations often
Skip awry
Salute nor ovation
For you my friend
Draw nigh.

When truth escapes your lips
It is not their time to hear.
For some ears are full of magic
And your end is
Rolling near.