apollo the one who works from afar 
know eye am truly of croaked smoke
the kind that seeps into yews
breathing into specs of moons
giving sight to the hills of curved thoughts

rived from the dawn of a son of a sun
within the hues of beams in light
that is the crescent smile of luna
healer of the mirrored path
ebbed into dreams

from this poet resting upon the limestone steps
listening to zephyrs woe the blades of evergreen
bending to the dew of mourning of tears
as the dawn of his journey's current
is of muddy torrents brushing him in ebbs
the spiders of his past stalk in the silence

he sink further into soil
whispering to the leaves
of a life never boiled in passion
but ever the cup filled to the brim
with clever whims of compassion