Your tongue came crushing through the splintered pine
To grant me worthless words which linger still,
In wells of bitter torment ripe with swill
That drown this hellish fate which you named mine,
To make me swallow notions, “poor and fine”
Until I bowed and broke a moment shrill
With waste of your dull thesis laid to spill,
So fondly folded by malignant wine.
Compose thyself and be a man of worth!
Is it a credit to blood and allies
To talk in circles with no tail or root?
Cease barking!  Rally heels and heart to earth,
For now we march ahead to raise our cries
Against disciples who shall soon be mute.