The buying bellows.

cursory warnings of a Harzard Perception 

That some won’t see hear or take note

Of the hidden knots that fell to the ground

ignoring the Countenance of a Bear.

Shouting out over the organ coming into view

Taping out three beats in the fourth to make the bar

When you cannot see the hidden rings and silver boots 

forgetting some already had there own Moments in the sun 

when the blue became purple on a evening that shone

A Journey to the stars and back not so long ago

A memoir of red tree that has not faded away

As the paint washes away in its furrowed brow.

As forget me knots grow amongst hawthorn hedge

As you clock watch and stop to observe the maidens mask

Fall behind the horizon and the panoramic sweep to city’s  ledge.

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