Boxes that billow with boisterous blasts;
Hoarding uncertainty, a rod that he casts.
Held together tight by corrugated fibers,
Out of the way of damp deep sea divers.
A ridge on a round back, away from a face;
Sorted and spiffed up all over the place.
Redundant it sounds, always interconnected;
Falling apart, but not being dejected.
Workloads of payback, repeat though you may,
No waste but not want dampened only with hay.