TOO PURELY CIRCUMSPECT
Oh the gladiator has the new-found land,
the pistol has the cannon. Everything else
was left alone - like a fire, burning on Mars.
So, my little one, and gracious of heart,
come along with me to see. We can shuffle
the hides of the cummerbund, walking past
graveyards and skating on sun, going with
glee to some Blakean land and never having
again to ask, 'Little lamb, who made thee?'