The poets strung pearls
so I undid the strands;
the wise crafted words
so I helped them understand.
The sophists debated
so I tied up their tongues;
the prophets prophesied
so I gave Destiny a hand.
When all was done
and the smoke had cleared
each one bowed down before me:
"How swift thy sword!" they exclaimed.
But I, the poet madman,
did demure:
"It was Love that smote thee, sires,
for none may play the lord
in His domain."
