Bacon's Head

Time is no scholar's mate, eager to seize
one perfectly construed, but often stumbled
through accents, thorns, half-bastard-uncials tumbled
of monkish hands when feet no quantities.

Time was, the first to explore cut savage keys
(clues from an ancient dream), released the humbled
no hyssop bearing; marginalia crumbled
for type that dust and brains him never please.

"A necromancer, as the learnèd say..."
"Refraction of the æther, an illusion..."
"He made the dumb to speak, but not to pray..."

But time shall cease to be: the narrow way
only of thorns, glass, symbols saves; confusion
of brazen words gains meaning - on that day.

Peter J Ross