It’s deep winter down here
In Hellas and we’re in
A run of magic
Weather a wee bit of what I wager
Your frigid, hard up barbarians would love
To bask in while they rape and plunder.
Hear those panpipes? Another of our classic
Clear spring days, flocks of immaculate sheep
And she-goats bleating in the meadows
And behind the susurrating hedges
A tangible—would you believe it—cornucopia
Of bestial fornicating fauns!
*Before the Crisis