Sat at table’s head, with an ahem and an amen
Abou Ben Adhem retired to bed at meal’s end
Steps his head so perfectly mapped he could traipse lampless unscathed
On the bedside chest the Lathe of Heaven laid to rest
Medals twenty the Lady of Heaven heavy against his chest
His pillow he found gently dented
In his chamber, anpiel’s fruitpeel and bell peal scents still evident
Images of the Angel’s brazenly golden book,
His jewel-encrusted shepherd’s crook,
Booking out all his head’s rooms rentless.
Images of slent light, bent solids,
Rimed statues of unmild mightiness,
From an ancient time, the newest tool was rude use of purloined fire.
Alchemisland 
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