There are so many arrows flitting about capturing less soul
and more the foul There are so many depth ridden fleeting
and more the foul There are so many depth ridden fleeting
forays into summerhood that capture less whim and more
the resigning chime There are so many guilt laden mindful
strands of bile guilelessly capturing less din and more the
shine that heeds not, bleeds yes, thunders less and less.