Whither, thee ask?
Wherefore hither and thither;
Amongst the grass it slither,
Like a wet bar of soap in thine hand;
Slipping through the tightest clutch.
So thee no longer grab such jump.
Instead, place width between two palms,
And witness a stagger in the hop.
Look! Just there! A light in the cold!
This fool scratches the sides to a dull.
Like a lion gnawing on marrow;
Consuming even the invisible meat.
Mistaking the after taste in the lick
As another victum to the stomach!
Oh and how the sky shines the morn.
How the sun turned ally in such affair;
What once was a solid,
Now runs as a liquid.
Be gone then! Our game is done!
No more time for me,
When thy thumb striketh the media!
