day follows day in precise normal mode

all of our arrows remain in quiver

nothing it seems can act as force or goad

the journey's not made in ancient flivver

all is dependent on silent giver

to take us past what might have never been

the gallows raised upon the village green

such matters take a single simple course

and end in places that are now unseen

the sage must value man and never horse



this is the start of a long tiring road

ending at mouth of a large slow river

a standard gift or horrid curse bestowed

as blessing or as truly painful shiver

not something that we could deliver

this matters we find not a single bean

so much we say we cannot ever mean

the word in each mouth turns so swiftly coarse

the voyage never becomes transmarine

the sage must value man and never horse



our hope is never wholly safely stowed

dependent as it is on heart and liver

a sort of signal in a secret code

of which we can know only a sliver

enough at least to tell the forgiver

how to begin to set the final scene

and to command as if a king or queen

speaking in honour and without remorse

a gathering that we could all convene

the sage must value man and never horse



prince we escape and know that we are clean

of human wisdom all that we could glean

to the full limits of our petty force

do not attempt to fight or intervene

the sage must value man and never horse