A Psalm.

Let's with clapped hands make,

The heavens ring, like tolling bells,

Peals of joy fill the valleys

Like rivulets the one who tells,

How the tresses of golden-haired sun

Bowed, its raiments collected,

Like the train of a pious nun.

And I saw deer in the meadow kneel.

The dogs will get more than scraps,

The table broke and the food,

Spilled everywhere on the ground,

Is easier to eat dirty and crude.

Always after my tail to gobble up

It, my conscience and my neighbor.

The patchwork, which I rudely cobble up;

Is poorly gauged for all this gravity.

But this wine beaded on the floor,

Tastes best, saved for last and worst.

Let her lap it up- the whore.

How happy she seems! and the sun too...

Let the peals crack off cliffs and the mouths,

of empty canyons. The bells sound louder.

They don't mind you who belittles.

The dogs enjoy their vittles.