At the time of writing
Ignorance was bliss,
I found myself blessed by
The Mistress of Dawntime,
Her embracing feathers &
Juvenile smile
At the time of reading
Ignorance all but rejected,
I found myself grasping for
The straws of crop circles,
The fringe across the forehead
An itching smirk
At the time of judgement
Ignorance long since purged,
I found myself unreachable,
The Mistress a mere memory,
The crops merely
Weed
