The pine

I often tend to worry
about my thought on pine,
if my thought is just sorry,
as lemonade to wine.

I think in Africa that tree
is different to what
in Norway I have come to see
as hard wood, looking at.

It has to do with certainty,
of nature and of growth,
and nothing has with sanity
to do, or giving oath.

The presence of the water thrown
on spots makes spear and crown.
And pine in Norway should be known
as beauty only grown.

In any country, though, that tree
distinct is, as the old.
And, do you know, that tree is free
throughout the winter cold.

I have made efforts sawing that
God damned much precious tree.
And I do wonder, ponder at,
am I the one to see.

.·: † :·.

When hope is gone

There is no hope, you must admit, when you have ridiculed, a bit, the love of life, by giving God, not to be entertained a lot.

What one must do is really change, the chance, to do, not rearrange. That means your post is none of worth. And that you might be some, one earth.

.·: † :·.

Steps lead somewhere

I wonder why together was
not to be happiness, the cause.
I think the sin is reasoning,
as if aversion was the thing.

Though; think of that, by looking at
one cannot be that God damned cat.
One should, perhaps, be one who caps,
and question permanence of traps.

.·: † :·.

The art of twelve

Ai have made this poem on the twelve hours, as signified on Magnimix.com, and on Godmix.net, and as made an artistic illustration of on my veranda to my front door. Ai intend to post it on Magnimix. It goes as follows:

THE ART OF TWELVE

As first of all, a point was made.
The pointing stick reposed afraid,
and sticking out, the pointed at,
it certainly did pass to that.

As number two, a flag stone found,
made use of, so that all around
that thing was not, on table put,
was vital as the second foot.

As number three, there was a bowl,
such of importance as the owl,
as comforting and caring for
and as if it could hold some more.

As number four, there was a case,
and taken home, it all to face.
A box was made, the cave was done,
and liberty was by that won.

As number five, rod measuring
was made, for fun and treasuring,
a ruler, as the thumb on hand,
and as the counting home of land.

As number six, a value set
made worth, as happiness was met,
and also semi-gods, to poor,
who was not able to make door.

As number seven, one made fire.
Shook up, one did, was not for hire
in question of to be at ease
and mattering, to be at peace.

As number eighth, one made the grade
of having something truly made.
The cooking mastered was a go,
and chefs were made by doing so.

As number nine, one made the heart,
and by the heart, the joy of art.
The tribe was formed, the fun of two,
and by that, love to neighbour too.

As number ten came ownership.
A longer stick will further trip.
Authority was made and done
and pointing to it was the son.

As the eleven came the shelf,
exiting as to child the elf.
And layers made was science clear,
and not much then was there to fear.

As number twelve was theory,
and overview, and harmony.
Itself in shelf it could be placed,
for one to keep, and be amazed.

.·: † :·.