Cairo sought the bright bargain hill; my sere foundling shore the merry make-bate.

While we wait in peril under this wall, my tower sees us from the vale of woven webs; night clothes us in our minds, and sheds the wall from us behind.

Make a grain of pencilled fame, and pour the drink in martial gravity, the webbings close the times for all. Dressed in jeans and loose white shirt, he crouches in the hollow place of clay who has the face; and the grain of thousands found him there, and now we find him everywhere.

Never useless matters rain on unbared heads; with horn and trumpet blasts the storm to strip us from our beds: a harsher master born on bargain hill.

2023/05/05 #DailyCreatedOOM #WrittenOOM