A Supplication From The East Poem by Hannington Mumo

Deathless Dier summoning all on the green distant hill!
Forbid that your Ink should lose that salutary thrill…
Sole Owner of the thousand bulls on a far-off mound;
Architect of all oblique worlds all unceasing seasons round!

As no flighty galactic orb circling betwixt distant sky and sky
Can ever dimly dare your long-designated extraterrestrial tracks,
Thus let their only Wise Watcher's inerrant Ink all odds defy
And now renew its wordless awe - and anon seal all crying cracks!

Were naughty Night and dear Day to give up their borderless turns;
And thence no more come and go head-and-tail in their seamless tow,
Such unromantic news would not render Beliel's bootless lot less stern;
For the weakest would yet take sure shelter under your Ink's ageless vow.

And forbid that that travelled toiler's sweat should all fruitless fall,
Or that his sullen shoot should your constricted roads all tread in vain…
For not even the cruelest of ploughing villains do gag from start to stall
The slaving beast's straying chomps for want of an extra bushel of grain!

And finally concern yourself with his tellingly evanescing mate
Whose terrain-drained dials look ever so frail and pale and sore,
Whose dismal days no longer her yester joys and hopes relate;
For whom your olden Ink's great graces abound infinite no more.