evermore ?

jaffy sits beneath the kitchen table, wearing but a sock
and yellow shorts, reading hegel in a language never learned,
he is a solitary lad, and needs no understanding, fears

the sun and summer's heat, fears the passion of his mother
for his father, and the ghostey priests in bitter black,
he'll go a-romping when the stars can make some chatter,

maybe sleep up in the jackal tree, does a jolly yammer
for the sulky, hungry birds, but he sits beneath the kitchen
table, counts the toes of stranger folk, taps a mighty fine

cantata, drinks his juice straight from the jar, he'll be a
dandy lover, when his time can write its mark, he'll
maybe go a-roaming, like his granny in her youth, but

he'll always bring a proud return, a soldier from the wars,
or he may never leave his table, always love this kitchen
floor, make his peace with sol the spaniel, and sing

a child's sweet harmony, evermore