At this road of congruity, has he frowned
At flagellation.
Abnegation has long ceased to be his watchword,
And conforming his values, has he arranged
His worth in sterling grace.

He's a sybarite, this philistine
In every sixty second has he guarded
His loincloth to blink at the
Naked day, but has prepared the ground
For the one whose manners harbour agoraphobia.

Sulking this moment,
This fool;
At the other moment, this wise,
Whose senility resembles the age old of the coyote.