Where is the religious eye? Morning is dark. br In Pennsylvania, a tear has left br youngish ducts, and blood has replaced it. br br A schoolhouse was cold. In the wind comes more cold, br and comes a nightmare, dank at its edges, br dank as grass smothered under storms, br br When blood played a part it never played, br painting the floorboards a crimson no one br desired; leaving lesson plans scarred and drenched. br br Everything in Lancaster seems born br under goatmilk skies stretched smoothly out br toward clean homes; curios, too simple for wires, br br and breathing like rain in the fields of a broad farm. br It is they who see this, who can grasp a purity, br who believe thoughts are durable as hebrew staffs. br br They stamp out memories of unknown mortals. br There is the penchant to live in the smoke of death - br yet there are drawn carriages steeped in sound, br br carriages and the mind of Emmanuel, br and the toughened hooves teaching the sound; br a brilliance lives in stalwart value. br br Standing against the world will not collapse it: br nor girls, treasurers someone wants to keep, br when the world enters on vile days: they exit nobly. br br The sun dies - no sense stays the same, br no measure of curls, or ponytails keeps its color. br Stains were firebrick red. Night negates peace.