Does the reading of the day,
Trinkets and truffles and all,
Sweeten the taste of clay,
The rust, the blood, the brawl.

Tremendous the power of,
The firefly in the apothecary jar ,
When the pompous lid above,
Sits illuminated as the star

How sour the noble bell,
Rings for those who would be on the seat,
Trained on their bottom as it swells,
Mocking and ruling the masses on their feet.