Nature’s Mill of Reason
Thy Book hath preached away pristine,
With faith for gold in the stead of green,
Has forsaken gold unpolished,
With hopes of perverted preservation,
But nature has seen no sheen abolished,
On any an occasion,
As with the pond, sick and still,
Where death and decay would barely stay,
And let alone life long lasting,
Nothing idle knows recasting,
Until the day reborn the mill,
Will serve to send more water downhill.