Swiftly she travels in circular patterns,
Banking
off currents, too busy to care about
Rules
of inertia, bending the air.
Coming
to rest where her journey began.
Bands
of perception trickle and tickle the
Soul
of deception replete in your sail.
Winds
of experience always prevail as the
Hourglass
sharpens and runs out of sand.
We
who have known you are ever attuned
Of
your vigilant countenance, true to a fault,
Tempted
to vault over hillside and valley
Only
to turn and return to the nest.
And
those who you touch, may the angels be with them,
Heaven
forgive them and all of their seed.
Quenching
the need of our civilized union,
Putting
our labors to rest.
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