The breeze whispered seed

At the tips of the

Dead burned trees

Writhe snakes, serpents,

Twisting from the sky,

Bleached white wood

Black dappling.

The heavens above roil

In greyed distant

Splendour,

On the ground twirl

Dazed spiralled bees.

Darkness approaches.

The winds pick up,

Shudder softly on

Leaves, whisper

Mysteries I can hear

But not understand.

Or if I do it's

At a level I neither

See nor

Comrehend, and yet

Know it brings

Truth before me.

Can I bear it,

Am I ready,

It doesn't really

Matter. 

That seed

Gets implanted

To wait for

Coming rains.

That seed we might

Call wisdom, may

It sprout may it

Flourish

In the snake-waving

Bee-spinning

World.