I and He, He and I
Walking up a steeply-ancient cobblestreet, old witchwomen observe
The young man passing, sweating blood.
He has his cross to bear,
His words to justify,
Betraded for silver
His friends to forgive,
His life to forget.
A tangle of barbthorns is his armour;
He rules over death:
Looks well in a tomb!
Vinegar is his wine,
Children are his mentors,
Criminals are his company
His life was led according to his favourite adage:
"Do unto others are you would like them to do unto you".
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