I may stumble (have I not?),
Come the beating of the clock,
And the fishing for the fight,
When future figures blur what's right.

I may fall far from you
And from stones and arrows too
That have shaped in forms together
Pointed circles 'round you ever.

Those outside may luck reverse;
These inside may crash, disperse;
But 'til mays turn, June tunes shan't vary,
Jules and august moons will marry.