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.
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