Northern skies wrench the skies of eternity,
Reward them with vests and teams, soldiers.
Then robins enter the glade, without their attire,
Forming bubbles as they crawl in the air with mighty wings.
Their songs are subtler today than yesterday,
Toads flick around with their audacity so green.
A wooden stick stars in this assortment of flowers,
My tent exterminates itself, over the stove.