Endless flow of the silver-blue through moons delight
This is the place where vagrants go
To meet and eat and sleep and stare
Through schools of fish that dance and hiss
In sleepy unaware and blackened ground
This is a place of silent witness to corruption
Twixt bike-chains, reeds, and slathered snakes
A testament to lashing of earth by boys with nothing
But imagination, sticks, violence and youth
That stands too briefly underneath the starred and scattered sky
Unlike this land, which sleeps immortal ‘til the end of time
Makes me think of streamsfield.
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