AT the autumn pier, there we were,
Almost all, grave and solemn
Our mercies turned one stone;
Deaf a bit, to old tongue,
Our souls told the verses.
Cheers Michelangelo, we’re not arrived yet;
Blessed are that trysten in hym, Wycliffe says.
“All gods ate and drank”, — we spoke;
“Abishaq held Adonijah guiltless warm;
Guilt had to find prey, her own stead,
And some of the blame came on swans ―
Whereby the Aeolian head”.
Cheers Michelangelo, we’re not coming yet;
Blessed are that trysten in hym, Wycliffe says.
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