If you want to know what this is all about (or if your name happens to be Alfy), read my previous post on https://uncollectedworks.wordpress.com/2013/10/11/eclectic-company/. Without further ado, my second, third, and fourth quatrains:
No limitations, no asymmetry,
No deviations, no impurity,
No seam, no change, nothing to wish for,
Nobody to wish, nobody to gee.
Between the interstices of this page
The potencies so small and faint presage
That it is like the whispers of the trees
Suddenly raising their voices in rage.
It is strange how we’re conceived like our
Inmost thoughts. Is this a proof that we are
Thought before we’re matter? At what point do
We subtly change from thought to matter?
I may be driving without my poetic license, but hi-ho Samarkand, onward and away!