black is the colour of thy blood and though my blade with ink should drip yet wouldst thy strokes endure the ages whilst mine with each passing minute fade from recalcitrant geese the quill forcibly plucked is made to flow with iron and sulfur in water dissolved with the tannic acids from beloved oak and onto the goat's habit which soaked in lime and tightly stretched in the sunlight dries a thin film of collagen to emerge where though at first appearing grey, darken to a purple-black as they oxidize, the strokes of a senescent ape a curious construction meant for transmission across the space-time continuum the weltanschaaung of one ape, cleverly depicted in crude marks, left for another to puzzle over an instruction, issued from hard-earned lessons that blade should to plow be turned and that always necks craned up we should look to the stars ad astra! ad astra! ad astra! [13-XI-2024]