Said the Youth,
"We seek you, meek old barn, dear friend,
Your oaken walls which bar the rain.
Quiet giant, stiff, reliant,
Shield our souls from heaven's riot.
Let us cower from the pain."
Said the Fisherman,
"My piebald loyalty to thee
Which I had sacrificed for Sea,
Now betrays my final hour
By waves my netted feather tower
Muffles in eternity."
Said the King
"Between my foretold, fatty folds
Which gather grub of peasants' mold,
I hold no bold, beloved feeling
For your shabby shambled ceiling.
Glory death, now guinea gold.
Said the Musician,
"This pounding rain, resounding gong
Pleads melodies to speed along
Let free, Lord Nature's noble Fury
Judge this motely trial by jury.
To you I dedicate this song.