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Justan Tamarind: Book I e15 Of their embroiled government should weaken Instead of being strong, like a beacon Poorly set, I cannot tell. But Ruam's Days are not half myth, that, when we speak on Them, must baffle; but knowing each one, calms Concerns immeasurably, and so each did In seventeen-thirty-two when the balms Of unctions with oil blessed him home and slid Those devils down who flicked their tongues amid The missals/ and twisted round the rosaries; Who set and nourished Paul of Trent's disease Eleven years before. With Ruam's loss, His knighted subjects were so out of ease They had a sculptor chisel them a cross From a ten by five by two marble block, Which they erected on a mound across The Eribon where/ thirteen graves now lock The bones of Tamarind's kings; and on a rock From Nareb, which they set beyond the arch To Lorga's Jonathan when whistling March Curved against the stars, they had the same Man slice out chips that looked like/ flakes of starch But fell like/ flakes of steel to place the fame Of Ruam in its skin, though arguments As such/ could not make/ better known/ his name The way--by publishing experiments-- A searcher/ will his. What represents Us best are those good acts no one perceives, Not monuments that rise between the leaves Of autumn and the leaves of spring, not words Inscribed in stone. Though Earth will have its thieves and givers both remembered, a world girds Itself for peace or girds itself for war; And if for peace, it is a quiet world-- A world that has no need for rocks to shore Its human soil; but such a world's not, nor, For this blessed planet, likely to be. And so the Pauls of Trent, the Ruams, we Recall, to keep our bodies whole--the worse: To make example of their roguery And how they left off breathing with a curse; The better: to inspire our children, us. Yet worse or better, once beyond his nurse, A man who will be famed or infamous Will, well enough, be known, without the truss for copyright information see homepage Brian A. J. Salchert
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