Another Pauper in the Pulpit

Simple longings, most complex:

Sing within a hornet’s nest,

Pride in produce large and small,

Generosity to all.

Worldly pleasures can entice

Stronger kings to bow to mice

Yet beneath their noble crown

Sits a shabby midnight gown

Worn with stain and ripened hole

Eaten through by moths of old.

Though they try to patch them up,

Threadbare stitches aren’t enough.

While we search all through the night

For some minuscule respite,

Only with the casting off

Rusted glory from aloft.