Io Spesso Ho Paura

swift counter of a summer day
when heat is gone and sun away
while countenance may fade and sway
reality is set
no change in wages or in debt
past trespasses had not reset
nor accrued fortunes been lost, yet
most all had lost their way
each poor man is the poorest in the whole village
and each sinner had the larger plot in hell filled
all men were pigs, women mere whores, and children lost
there are but ashes in place of fire
as the sculptor stood, toes teetered, on the kiln edge
wondering the flood that'd follow if he's killed
and in the place of flesh a fresh clay mound he tossed
creation to best escape sad mire