Abiyar; started here for the volume 3, 2019 dv

We stand with her ashes, she made us swear at the ferry, we lay her down with her Sash, she cut a fine dash dismissed worries we levied, said life is but a flash, thank God for her cash, what it was not to worry, whirr of the morphine backlash, more than any drum crash, purr from a yellow reverie, are we not the people she asks, in the manner of her fashion, we all accepted tributaries, once as fired as Potash, Orange kids without a wash, proud at the morning jetty, cheeks pale as potato mash, her migrant epiphany.