Gorgeous blooms on these cliffs Midst a battery of sticks and twigs, Gravity toils away, Blisters on its hands from tightening ropes all day, Lashing down all it sees. But its pull is like a father's, and not like a king's, And the rule of the land is more like a strong suggestion, As this strong current begs for the open ocean...
From Matchstick Maker by Bowerbirds















