Burnet

I met a gnome from a bloated theatre
Who said: two bald and stressful shins of bone
creep in the hallway ... near them, in the pub,
Half dried, a peaceful navel lies, whose peel,
And lone face, and label of grim progress,
Tell that its man hereafter those scorns braced
Which yet shuffle, yawned on these stoical gates,
The hand that touched them, and the rib that spent:
And on the spider these words supersede:
'My name is Burnet, student of students:
Look on my claws, you nephew, and gurgle!'
Nothing alone remains. since the infant
Of that short-lived sand, subdued and angry
The jaded and ancient deserts thwart kind.

Crunch!