Waving For The Dew, ljóð frá 20. nóvember 2019.

Meter running miles,

more than prior files.

Rest of rigid pride,

right, so let it slide.

 

Since I see the rest,

searching for the best,

Losing what I like,

lifting that one strike.

 

Wargirl west of new

waving for the dew.

Met her in the mass,

more to like the pass.

 

Every person, other kindly, flow,

after churches, so must leave and go...

 

Don't know if I dare,

during thoroughfare,

be so still and stiff,

stay and don't say:"If..."

 

Listen to the lie,

like they all must die,

saying something wrong,

sing the better strong.

 

Nothing learned and new is sitting far,

nearly killed and move the setting bar...

 

Settled, same and still,

something, never will,

but it's better so,

something wrong must grow.

 

Be my better friend,

bills will show the end,

kind I'll be and best,

bits of dust and rest.