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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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