You,
Young mister
Who has incessantly tailed
The footless minstrel
To perpetuate the standings
Of dead moons
Come,rest
I am still farther off my reach
Beyond the path,
Slithering down the mounts
Into rapture
You,
Of wind muffled in grey furs
Of ghost of deceased songs
Green on the lips of fossils
Of laughter embalmed in memories
Of rivers that once were,
In their eternal journey back home,
Of my ageless rivers.
