Alas, yields the king beneath
Thy Toffee brand eyes makes
A vicious opponent for
Living, breathing world
That shrieks still ardently when
I catnap.

What  luminous soil I’ve planted out yonder
Establishes haste across  urban streets
So covers the paint of  pretty pretext.

Cold cobblestone stay silent as curious
Sway of seedless mulberry ask how  
People submit to the distant, worrisome nothing.

Nothing deserves a nothing reply
Though nothing loves nothing more that idol gossip.

In spite of naught, the sword never reaches the prevalent gaze
And no stones are cast at the vigilant virtuoso one has begot.

One knows such great efforts will not
Come just in the morning, It’s worth just the same
This jovial alarm to warn that king will not shed off
This certainty of infinite sainthood.