Sonnet

Hollow men out of caves Drifting over plains With the sun a-shining The wings of branches dying

The magic carpet is floating Oh, the troll's breath is groaning The housewives come out to see The enchantment ceasing to be

Sorted out our heightened problems were But that now have rested on forgetfulness's blur Weeding out yesterday's parasite The disease that effects our might

Parasites form from declarations of the blade They are fumes lifted in space to, at last, fade