Praise of Catechism
Ingest awhile the words with me
that fine mid-Latin symphony
the fulsome 'spanse of back and spine
her lovely grace is yours and mine.
Lose yourself in black-ink loam
in pleated tome where learned roam
and cast thyself against thy cares
to there where definitions bare!
For US eight and ninety-nine
that which you seek, no more to pine
to play amid the dolphin'd sea
and grin beside the lettered lea!
Come ye' truthsmiths, truthjones all
come ye to the festive ball
play amid the small agate
where teaching fills but never grates.
Songs there flow from frothing font
the great celestial Feast our lot
the fine bouquet the pages send
the scent where eager hunters wend.
I sing among the pages there
and wont and loss are never where
the fullsome typeset bears its soul
as time be stilled and takes no toll.
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