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perchance, to Dream
( at The Sight, of Resolute )
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i
and when the last t was dotted,
and the very last i was crossed,
the where was what Ever had plotted, but,
the why, Always, came at too high a cost,
and still the ibis had flown, all across Heaven alone,
to watch our own Fields of Clover, now sail on past,
and a great weight she had borne, a crown of roses without a thorn,
and oh yes to tell us, the rape of Innocence, was finally over, at last . . .
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