The beat-down
    disciple
        knows

Someday she'll
    ...have
         new clothes

And the
    bitter
        God-transmitter
        
Having taped
    two thousand
        shows

Laying hands
    on all,
        he rose,

Had his coffee,
    spoke his
        prose,

Tuned his ear;
    thumbed
        his nose.

The sweet, sweet
    smell of
        spring,

Ah, the crisp
    olfactory
        ping,

And the
    honey-
        jar of money

Takes away
    the winter's
        sting