From the soul of your scribe streams a scroll of jive, freely given with aethereal fingers five, a pympbys starfish is a five-fingered hand - left hand stranded on the spindrift sands till time waves a hand holding a magic wand and oceanic billows crash - the thought-waves of a sea of mind.
Yes me friends, let the sun stream into your hearts, the jewel-like crystal images into your minds - from an autumnal hay-field blows a golden breeze bringing a gift from the Goddess of Harvest, the richness of the Dreamland, scattered to the breezes of summer's end. A tear trickles down the marble face of a Karyatid and a faughn shivers in the morning dew. Light glistening through a clear glass flask onto a pure flower of violet - memories of a youthful idyll, a bliss of the mind, a blessing, a wish, a dream, globules, crystaline fragments and jewels of the inner-lit-mind. Poetry poured from the horn of the proclaiming piper, a figment at the Gates of Dawn, wrapping his purple cloud cloak around shoulders of shimmering bronze, towering, ancestral, imaginary, wrought of jade, ivory and mother-of-pearl, you ride the Keltek breeze and guard the souls of the tribes of old, your eye sweeps the ocean deep and scatters souls to sleep.