War’d weathered feet, come stomping sideways up the green cliffs.
We didn’t think to find the solemn giggles here.
The cave puffs’ it’s ignorance, so shallow in the cove.
The flighted breath under canopy , from clouds to the throne.
Sweet dragon roll momentum, the blue plate something to peer for.
Royalist ground pepper fits underneath the sticks; so humble to be tuned.
Dialed with crumb fingers and dry mouth, the worth beaming from concrete towers.
