4 May 2012
It was a night of green and gold volitions, A summer of trees, and whispered inhibitions. It was a wondrous time, was the noon that night, When the sun was full and the headlights bright.
But while gold, it was not golden, not close, And fires (good friends), are not good hosts. So away they drew, to the grey beyond dawn, And themselves they blamed for what came that morn.
T'was a frightful thing to see, to behold, To watch the devil, his soul now sold, Suffer and toil under the self-same sun, That brought forth rules for the race to the run.
Yet while strange, not strangely it seemed, That a hopeless figure might be redeemed, In unorthodox manner and mind to boot, But I'm just a gardener...the devil a root?
Ramblings • Opuss № I