Across the bridge
The women come -
And go into the town,
To talk of Mrs. Agnes Brown.
Defer the potential hilarity of prayer -
Open a gate or two
Cross the fields and find that place
Where profanity is valid -
Confront the giddy vernacular of that blackest hole,
The unlikely calculus of our being or being not
And those pages of impossible sums:
Cease to wonder why the old folk,
Beat their ancient drums.