Time has become like two vigilantes
Tearing the fairground apart
What set in motion
Set in stone the notion
(A pure fiction, for which I must apologise)
That two fighters will start a fight
Over a ballerina whose young round look
Belied her age of tempest worn
The lioness from mountain torn
(A memory precious, that I do not own)
The shoulders must touch the floor
The rules stood, the joints locked
And moments of inertia swayed dance-pull
Trip lines force grab dress neck
Torque on torso stretched
Clenched wrists lens
Blurred lines dark spots
Temple vessels temple statues
Temple statutes must stand and art
And sport will enrich our lot
Healing, food we mull and get by
The rest is just for fun.
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