A Silent Bedroom

The buzz of the flies send a stinking savor,
and the path that I want to walk is right,
even when what I have is mere moonlight
that guides us yielding with a thin favor.

The sown folly tall sits by low flavor,
if a serpent in the silence of night
sinks surely, the keen fangs of its slow bite
in a weary fool and all his labor.

A prince is eating his supper at morn,
while the sea with his crumbs at dusk is fed,
so has a skillful hand fine linen shorn,

and due season, a fat feast has bred.
A silent bedroom with a voice that does not scorn,
for fear of what a bird by air heard said.