Pembroke, on St. David’s; lacks my attire,
A required garland of daff’dils and leeks,
The latter, by gilded Sterling, acquired;
Th’ other, spotted ‘round the Preseli peaks.
By shimm’ring creekside the narcissist found,
In th’ Iscariot’s robes obscenely gowned,
Hangs, her haughty trumpet with shame abound,
Blowing her own wistful dirge with harsh sound.
Hold, coward! Ye judge foul what He made fair!
And fouler made, whom fares better judgment?
Fairer the glib saint o’er the sinfully bare?
Proud attestations or weeping lament?
Repent, villain! Don thine jaundiced flowers!
Remind Reason of its finite powers!
G. E. Hernandez