This is the house we all built.

This is the woman
Who lives in the house that we built.

These are the tears that are cried at night
By the youngish woman
Who lives in the house we all of us built together.

Here is the imp that comes in the dark
To lick the tears
From the face of the girl
Who lives in the house that we all built as one.

This is the witch with a striking beard
Who conjured the imp that came at night
To trace with its tongue the tracks of the tears
That were cried by the lady
Who lives in the house we conspired to build together.

Now comes the priest with righteous mien
To chasten the witch with the wisp of beard
Who called the imp
To lick the tears
That were wept by the woman
Who lived in the house we all built.

This is the popular, vocal crowd
That cheers the unforgiving priest
Who rebuked the witch
Who summoned the imp
That licked away the stinging tears
Of the tragical woman
Who lives in the house that we built.

Here is the singer who sold the tale
Of the joking crowd
That cheered the priest
Who tormented the hag
Who raised the imp
Which sipped the tears
Of the sad old woman
Who lived in the house that we built.

And there the woman lived and lives
Who heard the impecunious singer’s tale
Anent the jocular jeering crowd
That adored the cleric
Who chastened the witch
Who summoned the very junior devil
Who caused to cry
The attentive woman
Who abides there still
In the house we all of us built together.

Image: the fallen caryatid, by Christos Loufopoulos (photograph of Auguste Rodin‘s The Fallen Caryatid Carrying Her Stone, ca. 1880-81), published under a Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0) license.