Sotie
(The lion-huntress accounts for one of her rather more unprepossessing guests)
SMALL crumbs of glass he had for eyes
That blinked, myopically wise.
Like midnight suns his laughter froze,
Suavely sterile and morose.
All bistre-brown, an eerie sight,
As shrivelled as a Cenobite
Long vagrant in the Thebaid,
He quite miraculously hid.