Inside iron armour my frail deranged armature is pale
Fastness my flesh can hide where nothing can assail
Sculpted by an amateur symmetry’s anathema
What they wilt Rabelais’ Thelema their schema.
When December first heightens wasted months, a whole year to bewail
If you cram it in every day that month, it cannot be chalked as a fail
I am interested in getting away, at lunch your colleges regale
Something snug and quiet, off the grid, where I can work away
It is harder to find a decent place than to harpoon the white whale
My boat capsized, a failed enterprise before I had even set sail
Settling for something smaller, a rustic place where it’s always October
On the western coast, a whole island over
The trick to finding lasting peace out here on the dales
Is to suit yourself in wall-thick plate, oerhung with mail
And anyone who lips you send running with your flail.
Alchemisland 
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