Sonnet:
Will Browne reduce him to a lump of clay?
As humours shift, calm to intemperate;
St. Vitus shook his extremities Gray,
His lease is up. They’re here to mark his fate;
One time! Too flat the arch of vital signs,
Macintosh has goodman Dignam limed;
Inactive Paddy willingly reclines,
He’ll miss the three-sheet morning sails untrimmed;
Had he but spared the Bass for Gatorade,
The honored guest would not be at his low’st;
Widow flush with coin; parched clerk just parades,
A party brews. Unfair! He’s but a ghost:
Men will toast “As good a man as wore a hat.”
And he not here to blow the foam off that.