Whereon sylph perched the silky meadow that opalescent day
Like a whirring strand in shimmers of whiskey
Briefly, she became a gossamer of wind, and
A page in a disheveled fairytale
Whose lore records old tales beyond the translucence of time

A staircase of golden butterflies kissed her
To the elevation of this leaf of scripture:
   Praise the rugged humanity of thine
   Thou are a size of what thou see, and
   The world is what thou take
So did she curl her tail the arctic fox of dawn

The devils I've fought with
Will defend me like Atticus Finch
For I fought the fight I must fight
With style, with sheer tenacity
Like an ancient vagabond, an honorable one

When the Epoch of High Romance arrives
Leave a bouquet over my grave
And bury me again under the white wilderness
Whereon sylph left the silky meadow that opalescent night