Pact of little Vilwarsoil.

Where would we have been 

If the blacksmiths armour 

Hadn’t been charred and artillery 

Military disarmament 

bent double in smelter pot 

To reveal gooseberry flowers

We’re golden thorns 

recoiling in the smoke of civil war 

of coal feather tar.

Clock watching you being traded 

Like zoological society of Cypriot gibbons 

I don’t mean to crow but I I have 

a black ostrich feather too comb 

that I need pluck and hand deliver 

As the postal service is light around 

Many Moons of lovers roaming lanes

my hearts entwined with birds and bees 

And cathode Tattoo girls and crossbones 

Hidden below led swashbuckling cotton

Threading the dream that goes untowards

The ceremony of Forgeting Cherubs 

Knots the long and short oriental 

bow.