WERTHVπTHEIL

Bent as we are over ivy hedge of space
Or bowled as gutterball to the lame ditch

  of time

That we feel quite apart is all too clear-cut
And yet like the sly head of Solomon’s fox

Rolling from desert top of Golan’s vineyard
We’ve never broken that self-same smile

Our bloodline being traced to the very block
Of Smithfield, Tyburn plus (now) the most
affordable marketplace

Inasmuch a butcher (regardless of title,
Of class) will chop and merely incenerate

The scrubs notwithstanding such warnings
From THOTH concerning the all-seeing EYE

That they don’t feel the pinch is comical
For the year ahead, as this Scorpion rises,

Will deliver their venom