Sweet lines dancing on the floor’s jolly face,

He feels the great crackle, bitter the air.

Supple fingers gnaw long and luscious hair.

Every horse drawn free, the Saturday race.

Agéd windows see climb from threadbare grace.

Gnarléd dragons sleep lonely in their lair.

The world’s salty aim’d numbers never stare,

Peace-filled are days in such a gentle place.



When famished, the poor wait at gracious door,

Never do they maliciously bash; those

Sweet denizens furnish thoughts serenely,

Taking the most, chilled hearts are proffered for

Silent, invisible, a knight here goes.

Silent are comments ears hear most keenly.