If Angels Went Errands

Had i known; angels went on errands; Indolent my flesh must grow, Surf in wealth of no labour to show Stuck to my solfa with popcorn bowl, Watch my polo squeezed to no damp, My belle filled with not hassle. I choose to live like Pharaoh and his knights. My poemdom on one dais, much better; A pinacle; spill my ink for my only labour. My imagination; hope not as lucifers' Gehenna! No o! Even as i spill my restless ink I hear not all errand they honour. O! How imaginations please my unlanguid mind.