Stream form like glow-worms
Pleasantly silent in want of infant Serpent
As if almost honest innermost.
Raging in and out,
About art at best in innocence
Sunburnt and silent
Ancient tents loom over thickest thirst.
Ten thousand hand and land
Dried dropped and cherished,
As if that secret serpent
Pitched to priest’s sermon.
Admired and aged,
Sold around the spend wind’s sound.
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