Mid-night, apt time for the academic
Slaving o'er his tomes of arcane lore
Memories buried; Homeric.
In the River Styx, gotten no more
Tick-tock, tick-tock.
Iuly, of Iulius; no soul dare bar
His research, fear rules the heart.
Ianuary, of Ianus, logic fails the Star
His mind, insecure as the passing dart
Tick-tock, tick-tock
A dip, eyes lidded. 'Another minute', says he, 'ere I am to sleep'
Rises, but to fall, spilling the ink
Visions; a shepherd guiding his sheep
He rouses not, left there to think
Tick-tock, tick-tock
//
ÞE LORDE bi mi ſcepherd, ic ſhalle not wantte
HE makeþ mi to ly doune in grene paſtures: HE leedeþ mi beſide þe ſtyll wateres
HE reſtoreþ mi Soul: HE leadeþ mi in þe paþes of ryȝtenoueſs for HISSE names ſake.
Yea, þouȝe ic walke þrouȝ þe vally of þe ſcadoue of deaþ, ic wille fere no euil: for ÞOU art with mi; y rodde ⁊ Þ ſtaff HI comferte mi.
ÞOU prepereſt a table before mi in þe preſence of myne enemyes: ÞOU anoynteſt mi headde wiþ oyl; mi cup runneth ouer.
Surely godneſs ⁊ merci ſhall folloue mi al þe dais of mi life: ⁊ ic will duell in þe houſe of þe LORDE for euer.
//
Requiescat in pace.










