The Worshippers Ode

We have come, eerie drummer Worshippers to your rhythmic enclave We have come, with palms raise up to heaven To dance at your feet, to listen to the drumming of Life's enchanted mist We have come, intractable breeds, Retracting bulk to knock on your door To hail thee the drummer we do not see, Yet your deeds so implicit. Recalcitrant yet must we learn Like suckling to Mother's tit Thirsty for Life's succulent milk, To dance with fate on our fettered feet. Alas! Rust is ripeness Ripeness is rust Like rootless stalks to shallow wind we fall to ripeness And to rust's repress To sand... And the end of our dance.