Tenets of Desertion (a poem) Un-embraced by the civil crowd, A penchant for the lithe and proud, Positioned by the untold breeze, I ran towards the slanted trees. Until my rest I heard no beast. Before my fall I spake the least. And then I won the fairest prize With satin cheeks and silken eyes. She came across me in the sand Brushing my withered, ageing hand. But as I rose and she did too, My churlish ways pushed back through To the time when I was happy Now. With you.