Hei !

Hei! Rumor,

I heard whispers, as clear as soft tones ringing in the ear bones,
Are thy works and deeds, for the gossipers to heed,
Interesting,
To and of those, who speed and to concede,
Its not reflection, a thing for those who casts stones ?
How so perfect are they, that do roll and do say,
I am immune, to such patching of tunes,
Why ?
Cause I cry no more, to the tintings of unsteady lores.
Wail on, and Wail on.