The world gasped when the treasure was found,
Was out of breath and gulped air–
Such was the fantasy turned reality
That stunned prince and pauper alike–
And it took rage and courage to save the lot
From official plunderers and their patricians
Who mouth the plebian name to haul it all
Into the selfish estates of prole plutocrats.
The supine rest of the plenipotent Lord
On Ananta’s coils on the tranquil ocean
Set guard upon this infinite wealth
Like Siegfried on the riches of the dwarves
In the tale Wagner told of the Niebulung–
So guarded was it over sprawling time
Till it yielded is tale to the marauder’s gaze.
There was once a clan of bondsmen
And bondmaids to the Lord residual now
Still heedful of the supreme decree,
Veritable legatees to the dynastic pelf.
They hardly ever sent a covetous eye
Over the fund that their fathers found,
Never defying the king of all mines
Who made the earth’s poles to deter man.
Wolves hungry and also feigning hunger prowl
And project their hunger on hapless lambs
Chiding them for muddying their wonted streams
And calling them to account for their fathers’ deeds.
The catechism never ends about ownership
With owners by right backing from the show
Leaving it to haggling and wrangling burglars
Who refer the question to all but time–
Time, the witness and guardian of races
Who ever walked the earth in human form,
Who bestowed and bequeathed their proprietary lot
On nameless posterity tenanting their soil.
Altitude of Art 