Now even the tree on the comer, lithe swayer
Whose sensitive tips swept the soul up to Heaven
Has its limbs hacked to stumps by a brutal tree surgeon
And huddles forlornly in post-trauma shock.

When the grey has attained uncontested dominion
What exemplar can give us the faith to go on?
All the chroniclers of high deeds are mute on this one.
The struggle with sameness is not a good yam.

Stay indoors and worship the one worthy maker
The cowled monkish black coffee maker from Krups
Which after pondering and an equivocal cough
Yields a wavering thread, black and bitter as truth.