Leave none Unfallen

Aye, know that Fungi ripen not!,
they only rot, and slew forth ink,
like paper blots; or as Octopus'
tied in knots by the Severn heads,
of stone begot - wave hardened,
yet eroded none, become still weather
worn, and summon storms of fork'd
light: caughth gently upon Oaken might
by the leaves which leave none unfallen.

Thorn and Hoar, Sail and Ore,
Ships and sea-mates one, and all!
Lost at Sea - or betwixt the ceaseless trees,
turn'd to stone at that eternal tourney.
Null, we screen our stares for meaning,
the two heads of the cackling Gull,
screecheth its blood-curdled chill,
its pecking lore, ne'er ceases to implore,
lost souls like scholes upon the dreaded shore.

Thom Forester, 2018.