Form

White tops meet their end
At the bottom of an earthly wall.
Rake, rake the blend.

A set form is not its friend.
Whether large or small
White tops meet their end.

The Cycle of Life is its trend.
A mother to all.
Rake, rake the blend.

Friend of you and me, it can mend.
So heartbreak comes when tall
White tops meet their end.

The weak require the formless medicine,
The strong require it to prevent their fall.
Rake, rake the blend.

Rules of form lend
No significance to the thing required by all.
White tops meet their end.
Rake, rake the blend.