In halls, a goat hath entered fine,
Awkwardly treads where work prevails,
The blood of bosses didst entwine,
And forces smiles, for kin ne'er fails.

Discover'd gone, a hare of stocks,
With gentle age, wise Harvey Pitt,
To fields beyond, his soul unlocks,
In earth's embrace, his time submit.

Thine snails, they gather, dark and bold,
As swifter flows Iran's desire,
With venom bound, both charm and hold,
By crook'd hand tread paths of fire.

by Guillemette de Ventadour

a centaur