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Three

In days of Glenn,- there was mercy in tone And hearts of red- to get us here For one man,- agreed asunder That war awaits- in lands of thirst To halt the peace process In days to be

Island lines In greater being The Russian ruble- is part of A The distance gnome And glory for our war This Finnish speaking- will get us here

And looking lonely- by fireside in jail The spokes of Rome- would interject And then there were twelve By great premonitions To cease the whale- that stalled the Cross

And bitter cubes- to know a Washington,- jade in force To speak if all And tidy wonder For poets’ car The lines of Armagh- are broken line And cease to boredom- as just the Dane

In bearing labour We trust in heart Inceppant wind- to carry war But not like this In camber fire To speak of dead things And pros. for ten— The May of mine And disrepeat For lines to know The Irving missing And paid respects- to autodead The syncretic void— And that night of view In making promise The war would stop And interject The pollen fight- for ever June And sighting gold To story war

Nights foretold The end of fear In distant miles Of sobriquet Faith- and time And rod rebuke The bitter fast If thinking verse And tiny droplets To spray in jest A broken thunder In Epson, Maine

And to New Zealand A spire to grow The solace Wedn In plaintive Wight The stars and men And war and dangle The spinning carrots To faster learn

Nights be glad For forfeiture Palace unnerved In tales we drew The mighty dress In each and bold Nights are all And hands do fold.