I and only I have broken out
of the busy-ness of the Majors
with their deep import
my way takes me through
a sable Alhambra of pines
marron-floor my path until
the dark columns give way
to haphazard birches
young and argent then beyond
endored cornfields and vert grasses
the open-eyed sky
my footfall firm and foolish
not because this terrier
tears from my azure hose
per-party-pile my proper flesh
I go because that’s what I do
my doublet of silly gules
belted per-party-fess and
with couped sleeves of or
the whole world’s in my gaze
and yet it’s meagre value
is my scrip and staff
my sister counter-faced La Mort
she reaps and sweeps clean
the ordinaries and divisions of the field
the chevronel furrows delved
and bare to accept new growth
my role’s to be therefrom
the setter-up of tiny miracles
a random John-Barleycorn
in Fate’s boundless acres
and not for nothing
are we called arcane
Gold trophy winner
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