Postmodern sages will awake from the blood-beat plows
Of the better fools’ veins, bravely willing to sprout
Free-spirited into the open-air yet ancestrally rooted,
They remember their history and learn from its bruises.
The harvesters of universal metaphors on how to cry,
To grieve, to dry tears, then sowers of these seeds’ sigh
For full moon’s torch lit…