My oh my, don't you just like
To hurt my head each step I tread,
You show me that the path I walked,
Seems now to fork from just one head,
Serpentine elegance, you fearsome hydra!
A language built from tiny scales of dread,
This fang here seemed so quite complete,
Until you showed me as I read,
It's but a pretty reflection on your scales,

Composite in its consequence.

Longest days that stretch the clock,
That make it creak within its span,
From morning to the dimming dusk,
Awake I am, awake I've been,
And stretch it with my eyelids open,
Now they try to shut on me,
At least the day is stretched not squashed,
For I love my toil, I love my rest,
I rejoice in one who blesses me,
With time that stretches,
With time sufficient for my needs.