The moon is missing
Old stories oppress the scorned clock's hand
What is this interminable waiting?
Lost are the World's metaphors
Lost and fled to a dark place
Once beehives born in new orchards
They now dissolve in time's dead way
And die in the viciousness of niceness
Densely social and devoid of empty
Do I dare ask these forbidden questions
She is missing, missing to me
I know where she is but I can't find her
  but now I see the harvest corn
  and a bursting city of goldenrod
            
  (this can only mean good)

She’s cool like Samirian mornings,
She’s hot like spouting springs,
She’s clever and agile and ornery,
And she owns my soul and ring…

We’re building the future together,
Only magic, and hammer, and chisel…
Little matter the winds and the weather –
Such a route is pleasant and easy.

A collocutor mighty and mellow –
She’s friends with the seas and the wind…
We’re lovers, and partners, and fellows,
And the motto is simply – to win…”