(I had my ears checked last year - the doctor was quite surprised - said, "You have the hearing of a five year old." Not just the hearing, Doc.)
Old Autumn's drifted off once more.
Blank snow blankets the zero day.
Orpheus gets moving the same old way:
Westron wind... small rain... - let it pour.
Think of a highway littered with billboards, or
a Sunday layered with highway roar;
think of cicadas intoning "Nevermore"
(mid-August, mid-tree). Open the door,
Octave. I've heard it said before.
Think of an Iron Range railroad car
shuttling across deep-frozen swamp or
reservoir - feel the weight it bore
on your ear.