An arena of jeers, of men,
In scruffs; sheer fear,
And cuts, and slices, and bruised
Too.  I saw.  I saw.  I viewed
Them, the soldiers.  The soldier-men,
With their antics, of guns,  with blood, with
Grimace; their filth, and their fear.  Sheer fear, you
See, beyond the ocean and above
Blue hills. 
  Sailing away, standing high, along
  The circle of the sky.

A circle of whisps,
Of trust and of bliss; away, seeking
But all, along the day.

And I am, sublime;
 Skating along the ice of time,
 Skating along with skates of time,
And on, beyond, to above and to avail.

The tears, of time;
This sorrow of mine.   I peer,
At the fears; the jagged jeer.
Behind its pages I lie,  sublime;

In the book, of time. Once, the entry
An adventurer sought;  he fought,
And fared,  across the
Fields, between the ground and
Above the sky. Perhaps look now
And you shall see him lie,
Singing

But know this.  Beware, good
Traveller, of the circus of whisps; the
Quiet place, with whispered jeers muttered,
Against the sky, standing
High.   Beware of the ambling into the past.
*
  The baby is still now.   Because he sleeps.