She’s a precocious milky sky
A moon white opals radius
Her velvet hand of winter calls
Beckoning to all, who’ll pause?
In their stalactite breaths; outdoors
‘O sees her on her footfall-haunches
Like a woodland lily unearthed.
Within these layered satin-sheets
Men in their time honoured-way
Have believed they‘re kings and princes
Thieves and menschen
But they’re just not her kinsmen’s children.
They’re not holy in sea bound prayers
Too her the goddess of the moon
They’re just dumb fed flower bees
Pollen drunk on the suns doubloons.
