A heavy landscape clouds my weary eyes.
The fog lies low and hides those pretty flowers.
The London cab is almost red and vanished
The traffic slows, while sleet has walkers punished.
Wealth eludes.  So driven, I’ve found new sights.
I dream. I struggle. Distance calls. I fight

Within myself a battle.  Shall I go
And leave my loved one lost and grieving so?
Will she wait for me, that bubbly lass
Whom my heart longs to hold in soft embrace?
Will she upon our romance shut the door?
Or when my fortune’s made in the lands afar,
Will she then come to share my rising star?

Will sweetest heart remain my faithful friend?
I fear the question curdles like a fiend.
The ocean barque awaits and I must board
In just three weeks.  I heartily adored
Her flouncing curls of bronze, her laughing eyes,
And heart-shaped, pouting lips and turned-up nose.

Yet go I must, for fortune calls my name.
“Dear Barbara, will you faithfully remain
In England’s arms until I send for you
From lands downunder. I must say adieu.
I bought some land and go to build a house,
And graze some cattle, new life to espouse.

When all is done I’ll pay your passage out
And wait for you to come in style. I’ll shout
And tell the world that you are mine alone,
You’ll have such finery.  I’ll see it done.”
“I will not wait,” it broke my heart to hear.
She paused and, teasing, cast her eyes down drear,

Then lifted up her head and tossed her curls,
And planting both her lips upon my own,
“I’ll come WITH you when your ship’s flag unfurls”
She cried. With that the deed was quickly done.
The captain married us upon the seas,
Our life began amidst the high sea’s breeze.

and who would have thought that there would be such
certainty governing ι (iota), as to effectively stress it
               all the ****** time? guise it in whatever pronouns
you want, either modern or ancient and if ancient
then bound to psychiatric theory - but who would have
thought that so much pinpointing was to be allowed
over ι? and yet there are hordes of people without
a clue as to who they are and what identity to rattle
the world with... pinpoint above the iota...
if it was absolutely precise, and if it was truly identifiable
with a great accuracy, i'd find people in shackles of
certainty, hardly deviating from that's already apparent
to them... but it's not the case... so presumptuous
to ascribe iota (ι) that sort of certainty  when ascribing
it a holy pronoun status... there's hardly a pinpoint
about the iota, hardly any certainty, always the spontaneous
venture, and that's still bound to what  aesthetician you
speak to...
                           ᾠ (oi)! wriggly serpent of
arabic in greek, wriggled in, subscripted, prefix: al-,
then the l'ah the l'ah, la la la... la la... mmmbop! handsome,
   innit? kamoze... na na na na na na na na na na nah...
  'ere *** d' 'otstepper... chilli chilli in sprechen dingo...
                 roughing up the woof downunder.
and wrote a surah about the byzantine defeat...
true up to the point of mongol  and the mamluke...
for if not the serpent to teach man handwriting,
what animal? is not the serpent the jurassic spine
and our pause for thought? or what does predate
the discovery of dinosaur bones if not bonsai
   morphed into welsh and chinese dragons?
exaggerations of sleeper's intuition collectively?
to bow, or say: prior: all things worthy of a palette -
then the revisionist meteor, then all things condemnable
and bound to excess - gluttonous eyes  staring poignant as if
gnats stuck to venomous arrows with a thirst for st. sebastian...
    for what audacity asserted that it was always to be so:
a pinpoint above ι? there was no universal agreement -
as is to say: a god of the omni realm will never consider
a peace treaty  unless the people abide by the mantra om
and subsequently flourish... and what animal taught us this
wriggling? should we rewrite our stance basing all
metamorphosis from shouting to a hush and then compound
with statement: genteel reader away from the serpent
and haloing the worm, that too wriggles? it all depends which
aesthetician you speak to... if you speak to me,
i'll tell you this version of human history's worth of
soap opera.