Gordon Summers,
Once in the form of Apollo,
Charmed me out of the trees.
Once ware-rat,
Now grateful Horse.
As if I had found my
Youth, flaxen haired
In the long days.
Speaking of spring
Like a natives arrowhead;
Caught in a river of
Quartz. The future is
Dense like ironbark
But must be filled with love.
For I have seen it turn
The hears of fools to silver,
And I am one of them.