page_0: ".                          A TAFFING POEM

                Back when man was just a fancy,
                Born we were to primal stew.
                Toward the land I made advances
                While you taffed around the blue.

                Now the Baron's bare end wrinkles
                And the Hammers turn to rust.
                Still I'm bounding over sinkholes,
                Watching taffers eat my dust.

                I'll taff on in the horizon.
                I'll be taffing on your grave.
                I'll taff up what you're despising
                And what you'd implore me save.

                Only when I've taffed my limit
                Can we ever meet as friends.
                Won't know who taffs last to win it
                'Til the world is at its end.

                Whereupon what's done is done for:
                Crunched to hell or heaven-thinned,
                I'd still bet my share of plunder
                Something new comes taffing in."

page_1: ".
                It'll taff the dread horizons.
                It'll taff us from our graves.
                It'll taff away the silence
                Sweet decrepilogue pervades.

                Nothing long avoids a taffing
                In this taffestry of life,
                Save the virtue gained by laughing
                When objectives get the scythe.

                In this carnage everlasting,
                By what madness do we each
                Seek in vain a life un-taffed-in
                Which in practice is to preach:

                Keep on taffing the horizons.
                Keep on taffing on my grave.
                Leaving blind canalizations
                In some blinder taffer's way.

                All to stall the fall from blindness:
                It's a taffer's world for sure
                (Though to find our eyes surprise us
                May be why we all endure)."