We're all columns with cracks, that twitch when they creak.
I'm Doric like Greeks, but so loose in the back.
I never know which, nor with itch is this patch,
or the one that keeps silting and clapping this scratch.

As a Pete Pillar, a pillar of Peter, I stand the statue stand,
for when my Dad's too tired to greet, I make like a pillar with hands.
Near the gate, is where I see the men and women shaking.
Nervous is what nervous seems, as souls go limp with taking.