Humble, like a homo Erectus should be
Or stuttering slowly approaching words;
Is it the wood, or its’ shadow behind, which sneaks from the wormhole on the lens?
Let the boy claim something before
he childishly dies;
Guess now, as the gates open
Whoever competes with her joy!?
Shivers and itches are all around
No sweat!
Be ready for what is
a bit softer than Jurassic park
We’re auditors though
on an early stage of Drama.
Scale Fixing 