There is a moontree on Our property that only Grows one, then it's done, According to need-- the Rest goes to seed. You see, when the moon Wears out --but hasn't Yet-- one is all one gets. We will not go without.
In mind, invisible Fog shovelers scrape A path clear and pile Divisible mist on Either side, allowing Me, defined as here. I am following behind This, and upon that Path, decide to go And pursue order. What lies past its Borders, I don't know.