Desiccation praising desolation.
How can things be more beautiful when dead?
Pretty Guinevere in adoration
Of her knight almost lost her pretty head.
Now she reaches for her sad, betrayed king,
As if she'd kiss his dusty lips and sing.
The moon looks down upon the juniper
And sees only petrified conifer.
I once climbed a not unsimilar tree
On a cloudy, starless night in a gale.
The branches cracked and broke and I fell free.
The moon appeared like a ship under sail.
The world is perfect, unbroken, and pure
(Though sad things happen), of this I am sure.
Note: Juniper is a derivation of the Welsh name Guinevere.
