Ho, Gegrapha, Gegrapha

Ho, Gegrapha, Gegrapha.

Wipe your mouth upon your sleeve and laugh a

bit at that cross-sign you wrote,  It offended

those priests---eyes, bellies, and long tongues distended.


Call for a water bowl, and wash your hands.

And let these "holy" stew in their own demands.


How hard to govern in unsettled lands.

Your clerks are sullen, and your wife will fuss.

Postpone the dispatch to Tiberius.





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