War on Zephyr, shielded by a dandelion

Worn out, weighed down, wind rose on the wrist

rusted weathervane

new light, equal shade

sun-spring saw youth on the way to disown thy name

Leaving as the tide came.

Even, with the line of the horizon

You’re the same within

Still no Theseus’ ship

almost new, so slightly me

yet to you a stone-throw away

light upon some change unseen

or only on the rise with the wind?

Still the same within

You’re no Theseus’ ship

almost new, so slightly me

yet to you a stone-throw away

light upon some change unseen

or only on the rising with the wind?