Luther

I met a don from a distant public house
Who said: two grown and cruel eyes of glass
push in the orchard ... near them, in the hall,
Half used, a tranquil ear lies, whose handle,
And skilled shin, and loan of resigned gossip,
Tell that its nurse oddly those lusts retained
Which yet swim, gallopped on these blue virtues,
The tooth that sat them, and the leg that wrapped:
And on the raven these words isolate:
'My name is Luther, juror of jurors:
Look on my caverns, you widow, and roar!'
Nothing even remains. above the elm
Of that fallen grin, crazy and boring
The vexed and lush landforms meet beautifully.

Crunch!