Sun baked, rusty embrace of renounce,
undulated, unforeseen cradles of mirth
Harking back, bethinking selves,
One day, one time, one jiff an ounce,
The scrawls and stories I wrote as a tot,
Hurtles back, trusting enrichment and a little cherish,
Fawns and swoons and all that baggage,
O Felicity, O Jonas, O Saturnalia, I thought!
Feigning stoic was never this brute,
I abate the tender rush of flints,
Clinging to devious labyrinths,
the slowest brooks, the gentlest slopes.
