The sea of sway that's free today to seem to say In need indeed is seed decreed defeat is in the way, The way whereof there is no will so dying now can only fill A life of vice with eager waste to take from shame the peopled place, The place that winds as though it finds its path at last without the signs That point for reasons unanointed to the moving other lines, The lines of some addition wishing process marks a single grace For lonesome perfect little order showing off its little face, The face that watches time the spiral die as though confined in glass Yet thick without the shattered match of shadows on the sunny sea.