NOW, MARIETTA
'Punch the idol with three green eyes, strike
at his arms and smite his thighs - he has come
from some other land so as to screw up our days.
His meaning and ways are not ours. I have seen
him bow down, this is true, before trees. What can
that mean? Not worship the oak once again! We've
had our Druidic drivel driven home with a patch, a
driver with his team of horses. He drinks at the river
of doubt, no doubt, and steals babies in their swaddling
clothes. I'd not trust him to nut on a tree or thimble
a wafer while darning a sock. He's not mine.'
-
Oh my, and isn't that enough. I'm sitting here at the
piano bench, riffing through songs I remember.
Little thought now is given to that which you say -
in fact I think you're crazy mad dreaming again.
There is no such man as you proclaim.
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