Evolution...a potion...blessed...

The cool breeze of the morn
Like a perfected swan song
Whence came like an orange hue
Caught on leaves...city asleep like log-
Of an inexhaustible notebook,
One can then only be
A perfected primary number
A sense of satiety-
Wrapped in white and blue...

A be...

Small till the time small
Rolls to be merged with the Big Fall-
The Autumn of Life...
With an ecstatic rise
A never felt Feel...

And one
Gets certain fill
Of million gallons of watery generation,
O how one is then set to motion...
O how then finds the potion
Ambrosaic...

O how then one aspires
To be
In a phase
Of merger of nights and days
Caused by revolution...
Of changing pole position...

An evolution...
Till evolution becomes
A potion...

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