The Hunt
More and more await the mesh of stagnancy and man
The melting of the fallen lot by those made well to stand
The human hands that braid the streams when heaven’s ashes blush
Stiring dormant beating hearts and all that once was lush
But hush when childsplay caresses bitter village rural
And less there be of sanctity when canons learn to duel
And more to pile what Godly worth the piercing left to give
So calmly as the habit blankets basic means to live
