hwithumalut

“The future’s whim comes before my foggy retina’s shore. Gushing waters end our city sent by final divine scurry crashing down age old walls of grayed brick. I fear you may call my weary mind sick, But I plead, son, listen and prepare for coming days. Soon the ocean will escape from the rims of bays. Bring sheep! Go inland to cloud-grasping hills Salt shall soak streets and fill lungs, not fish gills. Do not stay with your fortunes here. Gold is worthless drowned down there! I can’t walk, of dying age You can escape this sunk cage”

“Father! I hear you call out. I would more if the royal wizards didn't see drought. I can’t repeat words you shout. It would kill me in terms of my reputation. See ruin in adumbration!”

“I taught you business too well. I have only learned values in my wrinkling years. In my youth foresight was hell, but I have gained more great truths than the king’s false viziers! Wait for the ring of the flood bell!”

“Bells bring cold hill starvation? This is your plan to evade some flood’s devastation! Nonsense floods your wisdom out, Because your attention-grabbing foresight is without backing. Senility throughout.”

Sorrow-sweat rolled out toward the seer’s once well combed beard, as his sole son left to meet bored coin-graspers who they both feared. Aged to his seat, no gold to buy song, his dreams provided him his lone joy so then his worries were the battle throng of his days within battle’s plot and ploy. Time was as unknowable as desire’s ends since only once a day did the sun-spear
Run brightly through the glassless window for his lens. Only memories destined never to return Stood in the space between the seer’s jaw and skullcap. A glorious fog nuzzled both sights’ last knawing nap