Feel the flow of the words
Melting so slow to the drone of a drum
Falling like feathers wilting but never
Crumbling along the line
The slow line of a low, low kind

Roll your tongue merrily
To the song of the sun shining brightly
Slightly shimmering along its rays
Flinging merry words
Who cares what it says
It falls in time with a rhythmic rhyme, all in line
With the line, words flickering, pulsing in time

Fill your eyes with the flying
Folding, waving light, the pliant
Voice rides defiant and sublime
In its direction, staggering slowly but rolling
Bobbing and weaving in stress and phrase
It pays its homage to the time
It drifts with the drums wandering
Along the line
That line of a low, low kind

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Ero, in the year 326 AF.