I will write and the trees will drop their leaves and the son will make new days. I will write and dark will meet light in flashes of a sky awake for seeds. I will write when the winds graze my arms twirling in bounty across the great planes of days forgotten. I will write when I wake, when I dream of the steam cooking the land of lame tunes. I will write and no other shall take a turn in the book's unruly ascend. I will write all the rights have wronged in a new song we will meet and love, and love.