Saturday, September 21, 2013


Pale as the setting the sun,
Act like the day is long.
Before the spectres know,
the fields are overgrown.

The poisons hold,
Oleander grows.

On a midsummer's eve,
A serpent slithers and eats
Oleander and gold.
Gabriel, my angel!

Until, when? Again?
Until, when? It ends?