(Apropos to The Imp and his good friend Bronn)
What do I say to you, Oh brother!
As I keep going back
To the shrine
Where children are murdered
And wives are sold.
I do not seek fortune
Or stolen gold
I get by with trivial merry making.
Why do I need more
When I am ecstatic with the plunder
Of sweet middle age, trampling wild
Under the bliss of roasted beans and unsavoury wine.
I need no wonders,
Nor a damsel or an old hag
What do I say to say to you, Oh brother!
When all I need is you, for my swine.