A millenary passed me by in the springhouse
Pentience, the major king of the jungle now crumpled with time has now become a mouse.
I roamed with the new friend, the mouse, aroung the house for places to gad.

Around noon, everyday, since lifetimes long gone by.
I prepare for a luncheon with no attendees as I watch the China kettle boiling.

The China Breaks, and comes undone in smithereens, very much like the sense which gives meaning to the man's anatomy.
Much to evoke some movement in the house unmoving like stone
Much to evoke some sense in my body which seemed to have turned cold.
But no, noting ever happens in the spronghouse.

I tried and left shouting, kicking, sulking and crying for a way out.
Repentant to have ever stepped inside the cursed house.
Expectant and desperate for a happening.
A tragedy, would be acceptable even a sanguinary, much welcomed.

But nothing ever happens in the springhouse, I think.
So I sing songs until dusk whispers its arrival.
I play, until dawn starts every village carnival.
Babies born, girls wedded, fields sown and harvested, what not has happened?
Yet, nothing ever happens in the springhouse.

Naturally, to pass this infinity
I came out in the garden, to water the flowers.
Sunflowers, Dahlias,...