For three and twenty years He drank ambrosia, Held that nectar by fear, And choked on roses. He drifted on fate Looking for effect, But he couldn't designate Anything in retrospect. His agility was found by chance. In an act of restoration, With a small sidelong glance In the proper application. He found Faith in Isolation, Only a couple years too late, When he gave his registration, It was just something to investigate. A Formal inquisition, Into the corridors of his world When he looked into the sun, His life had been unfurled. Now his clothes were torn and rent, And nothing was as pure; As the time that he had spent When he was still unsure.