after Mellin de Saint-Gelais
May the Lord make you a pauper,
A homeless old man without
An ear of corn in the barn, not
A bottle of wine in the cellar.
Until then, I pray by right and reason,
Home shall bring you no pleasure,
So for comfort you may prefer
To commit crimes, and rest in prison.
Or may you be forced into exile,
Anonymous among rude strangers,
To beg for rancid leftovers,
Without words for hunger. Meanwhile,
Stand outside her door in your cashmere
Coat in a storm, under the rainspout
All night long, cry out
For her to open, but she will not hear.