I wept my most the last day I found the Lordly person,
For him I say, for him I sneer, and I have stared on.
Such is ability that grasped the roots beheld by some,
And innocence is charity again, for when I die I am dumb.
The deaf and blind can never stare or steer their way,
So cliffs are the runaway, of a plainsman who rots,
He rots glory more than anythingelse.
His mould is contorted for each fashionable pursuit,
He laughs minus signals all his soul and root.
Much makes the murdered one believe in moreover,
And when more has stayed in life we stay never.