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Harm at a hand withdrawn from play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