Life’s same old formula of a medium of two
Mist rises from the earth’s rock, so the dew might return in full
Wind blows the pollen, so fires might feast on the fallen
Rivers flow to shave the rocks, so the earth might show its locs
Ice braces against the ocean’s tides, so the wind might fan behind
Sun runs the same old girth, so life might know the day’s birth
Moon stalks in gloom, so the betrothed might swoon
Mountains sore high, so all might behold and awe;
None dare to think otherwise, so gods might have an easier fight
Somewhere in it all, when a night served total gloom
An upheaval took 23 year old Anna Beqbaccar to unravel this formula's doom.