AtLast_[07]

Fendless men Of senseless sinning Face this bitter mend

Revolution On wheedling, wheeling, turning psychless

Pitched precession severed, Sending us in ever rending Mindless circles of the sun.

Stars

And stars of all infinity! Through skies And skies of ages yet to be

I, look aloft,

But all I see

Are tally stones

Of promise made, tho duty shunned,

Counted,