Someone once spoke of high windows
And begged that I should explore.
I gazed, on high, the "historical likeness,"
Then made my way toward the door.

Your wonder is mine, their minds so mistook
For the fire they so think impends.
But the wonder of waiting, what keeps us from baiting
The Wholly bamboozled within.

This dubious nature will surely suffice
Through this hop, skip and jump to Next Door.
While they haven't quite crumbled, you need never grumble
For the dead that are gathering more...and more...and more...

and more.

Well, here's god alas,
in this bottom of glass.