With plains so great; the sun could never rise,
Sanctuary blackened by the moon’s guilt;
Where only the loneliest crows devise—
Before the very first palace was built.
There once was a man so betwixt the mist;
Flummoxed and irately transfixed where he stood—
He ripped and gouged out at this sick wild cyst,
Till it bled carnal sap and riled the wood.
That majick monster outside caved within;
As he piled beguiled sin in his keen eye.
Somehow akin to a distant chagrin;
His rabid blunder conquered the clean sky.
And so it was—this thought had to be had—
And so it is—our fair province; now mad.