Gaps in elder aspen cast frilled shades

Moonbeam knocks on water-top

Like a rap on a cellar door

Crossly tapping ripples on the surface

A trickle telling tales to drooping roots

 

I confess a poor pittance grieved to them

Sanct and profess admittance

Harm at a hand withdrawn from play

Withheld the scars of an old dream

Left drift across the pool shallows

 

A glare of hypnosis determined

A level head at shallow axis

Of the furthest regretful reflection

And the orient of tenebrous morals

As a teardrop joins the surface