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28<br />
Tatwassa: The Fissure<br />
There the air is greying,<br />
Childish winds are playing<br />
Black are its feathered spirit drones<br />
That watch the sacred stones.<br />
Before it was a river,<br />
Made by the purest giver<br />
Of life that longed too far,<br />
Till lashed a blaring scar.<br />
Never did the river sleep,<br />
It runs a’ bottom now so deep<br />
Till mountains made around,<br />
Where they wash their toes at the river found.<br />
Mountains are dressed in ribs of ages,<br />
For they are the nature sages<br />
Made are their gowns of cloven clay,<br />
Painted in burns of shadowless days.<br />
Boundless whispers weave by,<br />
Carving grooves with every lie,<br />
To which our natures tend<br />
And ancient bends with all amends.<br />
Mountains around the fissure are duned,<br />
Both to weather and winds attuned,<br />
But not to man to make his den<br />
Nor level the barrows of giant men.<br />
Sunday, January 3, 2010<br />
8:17 pm<br />
Note to reader: Tatwassa is also Tatauwassa<br />
I made the name from tattoo and wasser.<br />
It has a meaning, it means Tattoo-wasser or<br />
“mark of water”<br />
Jaco T. Beneduci<br />
Teacher: Mrs. Weien<br />
<strong>Grade</strong>: 10
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