Shafted again our bistort senses vervain divine in the driest ground, and magic of our betony can track and map the wind and rain, yet the death-rattle sorrel went unheard we expected, deep in bracts, we knew, in perianth and sepal, just forgot the truths we cluster we hoard ourselves for fibrous return, to sainforth our everlasting, a spur of what we are, but for now, charlock and cluster, deep in the ground, awaiting our return