Silvery tine
of a sceptre resonating
which I must still.
Crowned, the challenges
of a brass kingdom
on a string.
To be yearned for:
to be pursued.
I admire the dew;
its evanescent evasion,
its consort the sun—
inevitably evaporating.
My hands, too,
Rust-stained and rough,
Must one day shine in triumph.
@d-pend