L'allyfalldet, the Somnolent Dragon

Like a desert of powdered glass

Where grains of sand lock their hands

To sing silent songs of sinter,

And with a whirl, chasse en masse;

She is both the blessed and the damned,

Spring, summer, fall, and winter;

What was, is, and shall come to pass.

As she slumbers, she dreams of us,

In every which way there is.

Every breath is a rose unfurled,

And the final, deadly thrust.

Therefore, none of us shall perish -

We are she, that which is whirled;

A procession of compressed dust.