A broken globe, Around it goes, My view is thin But all within Still skylines bring delight, As faithful ’round we go, Each day the sun to raise And set in painted blaze. The mountains ever stand And trees with lifted hands Blotch them all in yellow Patches, then the

They say “Stage four, There’s not much more To do for you.” “A pack of pills Prolong your ills, We’ll numb the pain, But not much gain Under the sun Is left. Just run… Your best.” “My best?” you say, “Is this the way All sputtering To go? Say No.”