Half promised land of madness lies
As a viper biding within the nest made
Of vanquished spiders and bird feathers,
Strange and foreign in the known extreme,
More than we can or would ever imagine.
For aeons longer than expired demigod lives
Have been forgotten has Zoar dreamt over,
It’s grand spires of madly reaching bulbs
Grown above more horizons than go told of
By the travellers who only glimpse up in passing.