Who dares invade my hallowed bounds?
It is Saint Cecilia's Bane
quavering and crotcheting
his Mammon-hymns in vain!
God's weighted ear
he cannot imitate:
spilled lilies strew the floor,
roses wither in the dry chalice
tucked away under his desk.
He said:
"I can't be your Daddy,"
to tell me my mind,
taking me aside to
chide me for my
freshly-ravished soul.
Cecilia, I consecrate that place and day to you!
Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 12:53 PM UTC
Who dares invade my hallowed bounds?
It is Saint Cecilia's Bane
quavering and crotcheting
his Mammon-hymns in vain!
God's weighted ear
he cannot imitate:
spilled lilies strew the floor,
roses wither in the dry chalice
tucked away under his desk.
He said:
"I can't be your Daddy,"
to tell me my mind,
taking me aside to
chide me for my
freshly-ravished soul.
Cecilia, I consecrate that place and day to you!
July 2020.
(Contre qui, Rose, avec-vous
adopté ces épines?)