What a job. An eyeful of the lawful
Spectacle, bespectacled, is Plenty
On Wheels. I'd roll from whales, the mighty awful
Issue of the One God. Give me twenty,
A hundred gods. I'd take these glasses off
And turn my head when He asked me to cough.
This patchwork quilt of comforters is more
Than any single man should have to bear
(A married man perforce begins to wear
Away); but God's piternal band will pour
Changes on these brass symbols, men who bore
His burden slackjawed. I know. I was there.
O God Thou God too strong for me, You made
Earth yours. It is too good. I am afraid.
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