on shores of wider seas

above the tower a single vulture floats
we wait and wait to see just who has died
on earth we see the ones with heavy coats
and wonder just what sins they have to hide
in the far distance the returning boats
their sails are bouyed up by the winds of pride
and then the bell that chimes a solemn note
to warn the creatures that live in the moat

a time like this might well count as the best
for ones who cannot any future see
we're made to understand it's all a test
and what counts is the buzzing of the bee
first comes the one in cloak and then the rest
wait in the shadow of the tallest tree
it's not that we can some reform still make
but that the giant's washing in the lake

a moment that might stretch into an hour
and then we have to make the proper move
the vulture still observes the lonely tower
the mechanism's moving in its groove
there's time to bathe or take a simple shower
and nothing left for anyone to prove
changes may come to us from far beyond
while the wise fish still swims within her pond