Sonder

And hark! As hero as hero may be.

Onward on his solivagant stravage,

Baron of the attaindèd, high gentry

And true Lord of the streets, rich in pannage

For his own consumption, by esperance

He rules, his mercy maudlin and poltroon.

Livery be his land, tithe his tallage,

He ambles on to a heartsease lampoon,

My hero, the King and Lord of sondering fools.

My hero enters battle, wages war

On day and sun. Drunkenness be his shield,

Lard his armour, banality his sword,

His shoes and street stones be his steed of will

Ironed against enemies’ mock’ry shrill,

His allegiance to God and forlorn trails

Be his bronzèd key and path up the hill

Toward the Pantheon of bottles and pale

Heros he will rule and whom joyous hear his tale.