Ah, that your Flesh be that Smooth Leather pierce
Pricked by Needles on the Sands of Dubai
As the Blue Giant hovers; And shakes your Fears
From the White Winged Djinn hovering on high
He wants your Temple; Such Beauty obssessed
That even in his Realm his Kind turns Green
On how such Coil as you - Divine possessed -
Which to Retirements abhor the Mean
Which Font, then, must your Alphabet construct
Something which verily made to Run and Blow
So you lie down; And flash the Comfortiduct -
That same Pronged Victory we all should know.
After all, long have we Enjoyed such Bulge
Of Eight Metres spread; Less Five Inches indulge.