19 March 2007

potsherds counted

what stops the wheel the foot raised in the air
there's nothing more to do here now it's gone
the product and producer lie in the warm sun
the guardian and guarded are beyond all care
the whole thing started as some sort of dare
before we knew it water would deep run
some would speed faster than shot from a gun
the ones who were responsible driven spare
nowhere do we abjure our former claims
but with a rush we enter not our noble home
instead we look out at the new-formed leaves
there's been no clarity to any of our aims
it's been enough to poke about and roam
answers will come though history deceives

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