Kawhe and roses,
Morning and mourning.
To offended noses,
Smells can serve a fair warning.

Most people dont even notice it,
right beneath their senses.
The reeking aroma of policies enacted,
that forces ancient promises to be redacted.

Some speak of places more free,
Some will tell you of how they see,
Some may lovingly take a knee,
And the wise will simply let it be.

Speak not of the freedom of the road,
Nor the smell of dew at dawn.
Speak not of the moves you could make,
just revel in the glory of being a pawn.

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Aeguary, in the year 882 AF.