Under The Trees And In The Marketplace

a quodlibet

we both discuss

truth we covet

but have it not

sifting through air

we found a spot

one we abet

an imbroglio

a truce although

the wicked times

hold no dispute

the aim refute

to not conform

be obdurate

a wave gone wrong

against the throng

a chat today

we contemplate

the navel we

both cannot see

gaze and natter

ideas bright

a brain fecund

with clod bedight