Poll
0%
47%
6%
47%
Yup. . .
A dwarf with his hands on backwards
sat slumped like a half filled sack
on tiny twisted legs from which
sawdust might run,
Outside the three tiers of churches built,
in honour of St Francis, brother of the poor,
talker with birds, over whom he had the advantage
of not bein dead yet.
a priest explained how clever it was
of Giotto to make his frescoes
tell stories that would reveal to
the illeterate, the goodness of God and
the suffering of his son.
I understood the explanation,
and the cleverness.
A group of tourists clucking contentedly
followed him as he scattered the grain of the Word.
It was they who had past the ruined temple outside,
whose eyes wept pus, whose bak
was higher than his head, whose lopsided mouth
said Grazie in a voice
as sweet as a childs when she spoke to her mother,
or a birds, whenit spoke
to St Francis.
😖