The forests, rhythms, cold, it pares,

In darkened, dismal, dank, it bares,

The desert sands, they creep its stares 

You freeze your stance, you think.

In times of old, you think of wrongs,

In times of cold, avoiding songs,

In times of frost, you sink your longs,

You freeze a bind, a brink.

These changing changes, changed, of sorts,

They hold the binder’s, life’s, these shorts,

It brings illusions’ friends, cohorts.

In times, a dire straight.

These hampered twists, they bring a strife

That also sees a twist of life,

A stable, false, consists a wife,   

This way there is no ‘late’.

A lessor change, it brings the last,

A delta change, it brings a blast,

This change, it hampers this and that,

And then there is a new.