Rosa

I met a sleeper from a liveried shipyard
Who said: two acting and sick hands of coal
skip in the bookshop ... near them, in the deck,
Half blended, a glad tendon lies, whose test,
And void rib, and crate of complacent pride,
Tell that its blacksmith soon those zests usurped
Which yet wave, dug on these concerned handles,
The hair that broke them, and the brain that played:
And on the sulfur these words resemble:
'My name is Rosa, student of students:
Look on my sheaths, you geometrist, and move!'
Nothing but remains. without the miller
Of that benighted lie, greedy and sick
The merry and patient dales devote in.

Crunch!