My golden pebbles, I will rip open
Over these downtrodden arms
These locomotive shadows wherein 
I shall keep in silver 
Our still captive days.
In pretense the captive birds be flown
The gust in their wingy winds 
Submissive to the breakfast of freedom
Inspite of the softer pillows  of absence .
For us to steal stealth 
In their frolicing leaves
Your milk-lining, 
And more tons of it, with ease which 
Shall erode the silent wailing, 
Tons of corrosions, 
And just like before, 
Your dawn will wind up
Around my dawn, for it to admit longer
And long enough.