It is adorned in all who thrall

And bent are the seeds

that produce without cease

Of spirit. In the wanting

becomes adherently pastured

Insisting on giving into

such a way it marks a path

Surely in its wrath,

it is leading with streams of hay.

It comes with pride of signs

nailed as stone to a fence

With last names that say

they’ve met their house as one

It neglects to react

In chosen arithmetic

Leaving out an answer,

so truly inviting

Is beauty.