( via / lanny quarles )

Birds are Waiting.

i saw a little tiny frog
& all the lost years fell away
a moment · then the shadow's claw
resumed its brunt of dearth-strewn plague

the life that was this region's gold
has maybe not completely fled;
we who remain, from moult to moult,
are wailing in the treetops yet

Forest Stream.

"VOYNICH (Anagrammed Lines)

I encrypt much, to vanish
into such ivy parchment —
in the script many vouch
vaunts no mythic cipher:
The Voynich Manuscript."

--@Anthony_Etherin

Cycles.