To stand
so visibly sheathed
and so limitedly seen
above the valleys and peaks
that shriek to the heights
of windswept flights
patterned after the path of the clouds --

To stand
so far apart
wreathed in the dark
of untouched midnight hours
or silent moonlit towers
that act the part of sentinel
and diligently guard the breath of hell
that would freeze over the depths of the sea --

To run,
O, such a course
of arches and ellipses
of glorious eclipses
of degrees and centigrades
of centipedes and May parades
and the joyous blooming of spring --

To watch
with lidless eyes
the perpetual disguise
and distinguished surprise
of perennial demise
throughout grass and thyme
flower and rind
of those thought to be free --

O, my land
how grandly we seem,
the feathered you and me,
crowning each other king and queen
who design only to see
the boat from below
being content to regretfully so
decline glimpses
of high-flown flags
and full-blown sails.