summer shadows

The overwrought grin and creep
To write their way to sin and sleep.
From little fingers come little pencils
To co-opt what lingers with co-opted stencils.

So shall dearth be death despite stolen breath;
but, stay as stolen token--
abided, perhaps, by memory's sullen choking?

And the moral is, no morals are;
it is but coral, no sky of stars.