Counting Sheep

Shall I thus record the Youth?
Fiercest wave, ripples, undulating through
Breaking on sands, foam banks, clearing,
Cleaning the seed sown there so it may not grow
All this for the fresh surf, though she suffers our earnings.

Or shall I record that youth?
Gentlest lamb, fierce-fawn and swan
We two birds of feather have flown together
Her russet smile worn – yet proud –
As we gnaw through those ropes, these unearthly tethers.

Measure not masses; instead count your isotopes
Leave the former to statistics, the latter to poets.
Lust cannot be herded, nor can logic antidote
All bastard feelings whose chosen paths forgo it.

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