Consummatum Est

                                                              tis true, tis true, Sweet Stammerer                                                               (whose locutions soothe like water)                                                               the mind makes veritable Paradise                                                               (though verity’s another matter)                                                               we tripped along on trope and wish                                                               (as our soles were raising ash)                                                               we walked a cripple, sighted blind                                                               (as the High Priest watched us pass)                                                               just after dinner, or was it lunch?                                                               (a mouse ran through the choir)                                                               deep purple colors bathed the world                                                               (the Hood Man sharpened fire)                                                               to live as though tomorrow’s off                                                               (though it raineth every day)                                                               to smile at 60 Fahrenheit                                                               (as your neighbor’s blown away)                                                               tis true, tis true, Sweet Stammerer                                                               (soon a gun will rap your door)                                                               a poem is God for those can read                                                               (quoth the Raven, “Nevermore”)