The Whittling Lands – October 2025

Those who walk in the Whittling Lands,
traipsing through the Whittling Fields,
pockets of air crumble down
where down-trodden are the stern,
turned rotten bed of chips,
splinters, dead bits, and dirt.
Overburdened earth soaks it up
then cakes underfoot.

Those who walk in the Whittling Lands,
stumbling along the Whittled Halls,
with angels carved in marble knobs,
and sand drifts down from up above;
patches of grease coat the choir
and bely, by filling, the cracks of walls
draped in shadow-silent glow
and still as stones in cave-black night.

The walkers in these Whittling Lands
they came en masse
and left reduced.
Those who stayed

had come to know
and come to move
this world before
they whittled all away.