Acrid, In Every Hue

fancy a dip, perhaps two.
occasional blip as if on cue.
pile the pickets, make them strong.
infinite, they stretch along.

bound in time, scattered frames
a logbook of scribbled names
random drawing sheath and shield,
The Forgotten bough begs to yield.

natter, their chatter low.
gaunt against the sunrise's glow.
intention, purpose, what do we know?
Time's insignia will tell us so.