They could not tell me who should be my lord,
But I could read from every word they said The common thought:
Perhaps that lord was dead,
And only a story now and a wandering word.
How could I follow a word or serve a fable,
They asked me. `Here are lords a-plenty.
Take Service with one, if only for your sake,
Yet better be your own master if you're able.' I would rather scour the roads, a masterless dog,
Than take such service, be a public fool,
Obstreperous or tongue-tied, a good rogue,
Than be with those, the clever and the dull,
Who say that lord is dead; when I hear Daily his dying whisper in my ear.(A poem from One Foot in Eden )
