Snake Intestines in the Royal
College’s Library of Constantinople
Inked lines of Homer quilled inside a roll,
One hundred twenty feet of words along
A parchment made of serpent folds, a scroll
From fabled serpents’ innards, softly strong,
Was laid as almost sacred on a shelf.
Byzantium could not have held a gem
More holy. Culture’s soul, its highest self,
Could not have wanted more. The hallowed hem
Of Jesus would have been a treasure shrined,
But what those archives clasped was that long book
Of ancient verses written by a blind
Apostle saved now in that nook.
..He could not read the poetry there on
….Those guts, but it was heritage’s dawn.