Sunday, September 12, 2010


Among us on our pilgrimage was one
Who, long before our traveling was done,
Had come to know us each as if he were
Our dearest friend, so busy would he stir
Among our company, observing us,

Engaging us in talk, intent to suss
Our secrets out and know our very hearts,
Though we be knaves or nobles, nuns or tarts.

And yet himself we hardly came to know,
So curious he was for us to show

Our crotchets and peculiarities
That he laid low with no apologies

Or shame and seemed intent to memorize

What he observed—a poet in disguise.