By old laws and bloody soils, stiff customs
flex with strain under duress, if at all.
Emerald toadstool rising on frustum
shaped rock, a wily messenger does squall
a warning to passers by: “Wherewithal
change cometh, whither your will or nae man’s.”
If only hearing was good as one’s hands
on the stuff that made easy believing,
hard or runny as eggs, chewing up lands
without a care, “Nae bother! Ain’t thieving!”