My seed has been plucked from the ground,
no longer is it required to flourish…
Does it burn by the gift of Prometheus?,
or has the modern shaman taken it,
to cure the ailments derived from the Pegasus.
Neither fate is deserving,
it is an answer best unknown!
As the blue and glorious petals,
shall now never bloom.
If not the California Kings practice,
or by the elders tool,
then maybe in the diet of a bleeding swallow,
the seed will still have been taken:
it’s an answer never to be known!
Now I share Cupids unique anger,
the Gaia has forsaken me,
she did allow this evil done,
for Narcisstic good.
The landscape shall not change,
but the scar of loss shall remain,
on this nearly mighty, but rebroken oak.
An answer concluded, but wished forgotten,
shall always linger here, as her seed descends to the Styx.