Processional
Think what the demotic droplet felt,
Translated by a polar wand to keen
Six-pointed Mandarin--
All singularity, its Welt--
Anschauung of a hitherto untold
Flakiness, gemlike, nevermore to melt!
But melt it would, and--look--become
Now birdglance, now the gingko leaf's fanlight,
To that same tune whereby slabs of immensely old
Dogma and opprobrium,
Exchanging ions under pressure, bred
A burnt-black spar of anchorite.
Or in three lucky strokes of word-golf LEAD
Once again turns (LOAD, GOAD) to GOLD.
Created by
guccipiggy
Last modified
2005-03-17 09:04 PM
