Ophelia's gathering pensive,
indian river rolls along;
go under again or merrily live,
a glancing airborne song.
Dylan penned a desolate row,
and coughed in dusty rhyme;
Ophelia's gathering one last bow,
her arrow points of time.
A boy rattles lavender pom,
and dances tippytoe;
Ophelia's decision sweeps past mom,
one she'll never know.
A whirlwind's abrew,
can't you feel the eye?
campfire girl stew,
or history from the sky.
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