See the swift magpie, fiefdom in flight— Magazine-bullet-like, shooting pie. Bulls blister the earth, like soft filet. The magpie donning cloak not of Earth. Dawn dons croak songs on morning awning— Songs of smart birds will make your things gone. Birds which, when caught, make beautiful quill. Caught your own eye, mind; on mount or lake. I mind the rascal with coloured hind, Rustles its feathers, clever withal Fetters your objects, like of leather, Obstructing from sight, but don’t object! From trust you may gain them back, alright. May it shine bright, ethereal rain— Frighten not for then it will flyeth. Forgone you see, right freedom see then.