The listful waves roll smooth here now
As the cold seeks out the exposed arms
The wind, it reminds us of the time of year
To which we submit, recursively forever more
We wonder aloud of what shall become of us
Two birds that dare to dream together
A callused palm that rest a while
A sore leg that cries a little
With airplanes and tunnels awaiting fate
The dungeons of space will cry their state
And turnpikes will collect their due toll
We both shall gain together, so much more
With night skies they wake
With cold nights they shake
The morning dew from beneath their brow
A land, begone, ones future riddle