Past Sculpting Cloud, And Rolling Out - Poem by james watkin
Past sculpting cloud, and rolling out
An earth-mash, picturesque wrought
There is still vexatious churning;
From the Maker stubborn thought.
The rearing man, through what's to be
Veiled for each demeanour's source:
An anger, to thunder-discharge?
Through dawn, a smile to force?
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