Satchel, Sun and turmeric;
Scarab, boat, Egyptian candlestick.
Sunbeams are a craze that’s hard to touch;
Saffron’s worth much more than what is told
And you, who did not ask for much
Will haggle for what isn’t sold,
Writhe on prongs of pondering;
Quarry, blast and pan to simply have and hold,
Shunning inner pots of gold;
Declining to panhandle
By light of that self-searching candle;
Deify the mould and bless the predicate:
There is a feast, you’ll find too late,
All meat and spice allowed go cold.