The Internet Poetry Archive


Peddler's Judgement

Gregory De Feo


"...and gape do they at Babel; with
My case I 'scaped its fate so you may buy
The good you covet, at cost.
What cries in smoke behind us rise--look
Not there! But see my case: it is from where
My fingers' jewels do not compare to
One small present I lift to share:
One small present--had never failed to
Gather all to leave one behind who looked
Still with intent to Babel's head.
Now just conniving, we few here, with
Our small present, with no fear shall
The age prolong, though its era be dead!
So fret not nor tremble with that host.
My case is filled; with your consent
The smoke shall blend with even's fall--
Our same new day! Remember: that
Varied host has those who boast that
day arise at sun's last stroke!"

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