day follows day in precise normal
mode
all of our arrows remain in quiver
nothing it seems can act as force or
goad
the journey's not made in ancient
flivver
all is dependent on silent giver
to take us past what might have never
been
the gallows raised upon the village
green
such matters take a single simple
course
and end in places that are now unseen
the sage must value man and never
horse
this is the start of a long tiring
road
ending at mouth of a large slow river
a standard gift or horrid curse
bestowed
as blessing or as truly painful
shiver
not something that we could deliver
this matters we find not a single
bean
so much we say we cannot ever mean
the word in each mouth turns so
swiftly coarse
the voyage never becomes transmarine
the sage must value man and never
horse
our hope is never wholly safely
stowed
dependent as it is on heart and liver
a sort of signal in a secret code
of which we can know only a sliver
enough at least to tell the forgiver
how to begin to set the final scene
and to command as if a king or queen
speaking in honour and without
remorse
a gathering that we could all convene
the sage must value man and never
horse
prince we escape and know that we are
clean
of human wisdom all that we could
glean
to the full limits of our petty force
do not attempt to fight or intervene
the sage must value man and never horse