To Thing
You thing and bring a forth to be,
You make, unmake, a thing to thee,
A thee to hear with eye not ear,
A prompt of thing to enter here,

Your thinging gentle like the mouth,
Yet bold in heart like pregnant south,
You enter deep into the thong,
And burn and writhe though bright and long,


Though why are you a thong of thin,
Equine of tongue of tainted tin,
Of perfect print, of winning word,
Who doth not climb to head the herd?

When all you feel hath been for naught,
And all the things you thang and thought,
Have carried not your thund'ring forth,
Then whithper not, my thilly horth.
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-Charles Michael Averin