Anselm be a phantom who glideth in the zone
ethereal like zephyr through hills where goblin roam,
Innued by comprehension deftly patterned in the mind
Encumbered by complexities, for us, too hard to find,
Blessed within by genius, enshrouded in a song,
Limiting exposure of thy brilliance too long.
That we mere mortals could aspire to touch thine hem
Or at least peruse thy work affording we some joy again.
M.