Green droplets of soup Summer logic
Haze which is not mist, July’s height
Collecting tree secretions in cups and vials
Collecting days in twine belted files
Distilled experience supremed in a phial
No more Cathedrals will be built
Says what about imminent return
Vaccinated against the possibility, immunitising eschaton
No more Davids shall be freed from stone
Hewn back to original perfection
Nonetheless, poetry must be composed
Three hundred poems nonethewiser, carry on carrying off
Alchemisland 
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