Sign Above The Door Poem by James McLain

Sign above the door.
The Table of each draft;
O sign the side outside it always reads.
Free; drafts with the hundred be ye first.
Deluded come inside,
by their own covetousness without visibility,
all are full, deeply and heavy.
Laid out by the score.
Each one is checked.
Weighed and prepared.
By she always needing More.
Leading ninety nine that simple wet nurse.
With the rather pink wings.
The line went soon.
Hung with long clear chirping pipes.
Fixed by for now waves sweet Motionless.
Of pipe O pipe I bare too you.
Crying out so rich no few
under the ground too the candled ' Queen'
Where here there is no backdoor with this
palate has no room sweeps straw across the floor.