Closet your pedigree that shares
the pants of the gaudy girlish wares;
if iris plumped has crept to thin
valley uneasily of seeds, come
calling the simple joys will swim.
The Apostle’s Creed, or the Nicene,
by putting so much faith in faith,
made the powers of Love beteem
in hues cratered to common space;
so trust in the Lord, or every word,
nor let the fullness be breezy
easy to cast conspiracy,
when one that loves others, is more
than one, and bangs and opens any door
of unfinished or finished wood.
Such smatters can’t care less good,
nor get the greedy to the grade agree,
nor let the phalanges flay the fjord.