Old Sir Faulk

Old
Sir
Faulk
Tall as a stork
Before the honeyed fruits of dawn were ripe, would walk
And stalk with a gun
The reynard-colored sun
Among the pheasant-feathered corn the unicorn has torn, forlorn the
Smock-faced sheep
Sit
And
Sleep
Periwigged as William and Mary, weep...
'Sally, Mary, Mattie, what's the matter, why cry?'
The huntsman and the reynard-colored sun and I sigh
'Oh, the nursery-maid Meg
With a leg like a peg
Chased the feathered dreams like hens, and when they laid an egg In the sheepskin
Meadows
Where
The serene King James would steer
Horse and hounds, then he
From the shade of a tree
Picked it up as spoil to boil 'for nursery tea' said the mourners
In the
Corn, towers strain
Feathered tall as a crane
And whistling down the feathered rain, old Noah goes again--
An old dull mome
With a head like a pome
Seeing the world as a bare egg
Laid by the feathered air: Meg
Would be three of these
For the nursery teas
Of Japhet, Shem and Ham; she gave it
Underneath the trees
Where the boiling
Water
Hissed
Like the goose-king's feathered daughter--kissed
Pot and pan and copper kettle
Put upon their proper mettle
Lest the flood begin again through these!