On solstice day I meet my favored friend
To mourn the ailing boy among our trench:
Avenge his death! We wonder to amend;
Caress his hair or keep away from stench?
Oh holy night, my pious soul becomes
Enthralled by devil’s work; I suffer to
The darkened venom: kin spreading crumbs
Upon the poor. Proclaim me free in lieu!
On dinner, gold in sight, I think of glee;
Abundance lies within, or may it be
An adage set by men to bypass fees
Of countless nights consuming petty tea?
Unfold me, great immortal pet of all
The feeble mortals; keep on, make them crawl.