To my despair it could written, lethargically, desolate, and all that is hidden. The words rage from within, as one who ascends to summit it all. Yet the barren descends, and gathers the fall.
Yet, my words will spring not, nor come to be. Yet, to my despair I gather it all. If, I had but a word I’d render it all…I look to leaves, if they would but fall.
Let it fall…let it fall on it all.