Epea Pteroenta

They had a little shop
Where they were artisans,
Their specialty being

Tying flies for humans,
Words cleverly kitted
Out with delicate wings.

By day, they worked in sun,
By night, under their lamps,
Always at the same bench,

Picking out all sizes
Of words and tying them
With strong, translucent wings.

Every few hours, some words
Had recuperated
Enough to fly away,

And out they went in sun
Or rain or moon and stars
To find homes in new skulls.