"It's time to pay for all of which we've spent,
For now we wallow in our own descent."
As the abundances of summer pause To gather wits, take stalk, and look around, A crisp incense clears the smoke of applause. The looming winter weaves an eiderdown To weigh the mass and mettle of our wares, Consisting of but what till now we've stashed In drawers, drawings. drawn upon to share In times of fast and slough, and unabashed-Ly facing wind straight on, we'll dam our eyes To cloak the coming waves of light and sound.... Of locusts ants cry "Et tu?" in surprise, While trees lay turning arms up on the ground. Refuse new feathers to our winged steed, But tread on, now the only way is greed.