It was the shaman,
No more has been said.
It was the lulu bird,
Nothing wrote, nothing read.
Iconoclastic menageries,
Figures in flight!
Unknown waters,
Fishes of fright!
It was his spirit,
There is more to be said.
It was her grave-bed,
Now documented and read.
Rusty caged Iconoclasm,
Skeletons in plight.
Voyagers of liquid,
The small minnows might.
When things are here,
We take nothing in.
When things go away,
Notes of habitual dismay.
