To Valhalla

There is a world beneath us
That the farmer would be proved
A filthy rotten liar, 
For all men would have food.
By whose trowel would it come
It would come from that AI
And art and work and all activity
Would be done by artificial eyes.

The little lamb was grazing
The Fox had spied him there,
He nipped at his lean body
For it was very fair.
"The moon!" cried the lamb
But the fox knew it well,
He wished to go to Valhalla
To that underworld's hell.

The men had waged their wars
The Irish rebels lost,
The unpatriotic poet
Had marvelled at the cost.
For now men were so idle
To dote upon their jewels,
Any form of eve they'd spy
They could boon in her womb too.

The little lamb was grazing
The fox had spied him there,
He nipped at his lean body
For it was very fair.
"The moon!" cried the lamb
But the fox, he knew it well,
He wished all to go to Valhalla
That strange world the lamb called hell.

"The Root and Birch Beer flowing
"Amble through the sugary ways,
"There are no rules, here, showing
"What thing I ought but can't say.
"For you have your nude liberties
"But none to write this poem;
"For all are there so silent,
"And can only touch a flower with foam."

The little lamb was grazing
The fox had spied him there,
He nipped at his wooled body,
For it was very bare.
"The moon!" cried the lamb
But the fox, he knew it well,
He gave the Lamb his visions
Or did he? No, God did, well.

Gabriel's trumpet blasted,
Michael and David's too;
The men in their vessels
Did fly to worlds new.
Thus was all speech ended
And men only talked with moans,
At last the foaming flowers
Were forbid by hearts of stone.