Pray, give me a paper so I can think,
For all your fine-wrought words avail
Me not, but like a vapor's trail,
Disperse in eddies of unknowing,
Streams of jetsam whirling, flowing
Into the cracks of Time's eternal sink.
Well maybe I'm really not so clever
As you who, from a word, may pile
Stone on stone and tile by tile
And so raise structures in your mind
Which verily the word defined—
How rare it is to be a man so clever!
But draw me a picture, that I may see
At my own pace, your word's intent.
The time it takes would be well-spent,
For what's drawn to earth is drawn to eye;
Snatch down these spirits from the sky
That they make take on form and shape for me.
"A picture is worth a thousand words."
The saying goes and, yes, it's true,
For that which falls within our view
Is elevated from equation,
Holding firm against evasion
Which man is subject to when turning words.
So when you are weaving a tangled snare
Of arcane symbols, runic lore,
In order not to be a bore
Or to deceive unknowingly
Take out a paper pad for me,
And set your eldritch wisdom there,
And then in understanding, I might have a prayer.
George Chadderdon © 1995