A host of profanities,
Saintly cherished and dearly nestled,
Ancient and amassed,
Into the casket of his brazen chaste,
Unknown, aloof—–so unbeaten
Like sacred delights of a village wench
Until found and famed.
Or so he might have thought.
And it came to pass then,
Distance drew its unfailing villains,
Envy, errand and exposure,
Close, cunning and curious
On the hisses of glistened rumors.
Whispers clanked and the woods laughed,
A silent laughter
In sinking mute,
That took life of the one
Who once excelled
In the pirvy of his secrets.
