When we expire and breathe no more
The heavy air of our lunchtime wine
We will not hear the jazz blade's carp
Nor will we bend the tattered ears of circus bears
So blowing wind, unfurl the folded cloud
And clear a mile of sky as I pronounce
An end to gravity and earthly woe
The feathered rover's burden lifting ounce by ounce
One damson eye for Boxing Day
And lip raised high like a brazier's weld
An ailing friend still on the mend
Consents to point his pundit eye daughterly
The pond is leveled plain, no gasp disturbs
The knuckles of these sun-forsaken hills
The feathered rover is on the wing
The thing of majesty sequestered in him still