Nine

Nights chased away each dawn

By the sacred wights on the mountainsides.

The game fate has decreed;

For the first of prizes;

Tipsy so she may be.

Still quibbles with mortals;

When in her cups,

Though much more friendly than Ra,

who is busy with many different tasks,

Deigns to speak once in a while.

Fate is in her cups, she has thrown in;

With the whiterabbitt;

And is rooting for the ordered win,

From the disorderly mind of the rabbitt.

Ra is rather put out;

But amicable enough to concede;

An upstarts upset; an unexpected win!

Ra looks, Ra sees, Ra smiles;

He can afford to let the rabbitt win;

Here or there;

He Carry’s the sun;

He has plenty to gamble with.