Sickened by sun with rainstorms lashing him rotten. A looted wreath crowning his tangled hair. Every moment of his youth apart from its dream was forgotten. Gone the roof overhead but the sky was always there. Oh you who are flung out alike from heaven and from Hades. You murderers who've been so bitterly repaid. Why did you part from the mothers who nursed you as babies. It was peaceful and you slept and there you stayed. Still he explores and rakes the absinthe green oceans. Though his mother has given him up for lost. Grinning and cursing with a few odd tears of contrition. Always in search of that land where life seems best. Loafing through hells and flocked through paradises. Calm and grinning with a vanishing face. At times he still dreams of a small field he recognises.