She knew of things that time often brought; in a life filled with strife, it became what we sought.

We then knew of things that time would soon bring; in a life filled with strife, it became what she sang.

And the gases from Parnassus eked into our minds, elongated our spines as we paid her in kind.

She tipped tables towards truth (her name was now Ruth), so able to delve so deep in the swell that all gathered round were then lost in her spell.

As we suckled her visions, blown away by the frisson, we detected no lies in her utmost precision.

Most wanted her eyes to look now their way, but we hoped, then again, she'd have nothing to say.

We read her dissent yet could not repent that a bonafide oracle who made us feel horrible

could awaken en masse our fast-asleep class but then, yet again, she was just a total badass.

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