Too or not too, that was the politic question
When he sat down to scribble something neat:
But not so frugal that it’d lay its beat
Without an extra rhythm like suggestion.

“Before the year is out” – although that implied
A time to wait upon, fate slipping in
Like tasteless poison or a tasty sin
That makes a promise that place where you lied.

Shorter and snappier, “For the year is out.”
(A year’s determined by its expectations.)
“And, as we assemble, the new crown of the nations,
We will believe” — no, scratch the credence out –

“We will live now as those worthy of our past.”
He is unworthy. He knows it. But in history
Among those who attain to holy mystery
The last, they say, shall, first – but the first shall last.

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