Things have always been as they are
But when they weren’t, Pierrot was a saint
And Jerome a strolling player. Pierrot
Did his best to translate the Bible
But, knowing no Latin, only into languages
No one understood. When he finally produced
Strings of ones and zeroes, we improvised
And had Ada Byron born centuries too early.
This was probably a mistake; we’re not perfect;
Visigoths with computers are terrifying.
Jerome was good at loving hopelessly
But was not otherwise much of an actor
His lion, too, was always underfoot and once
Chased Columbine up a tree. (In any reality
Jerome has a lion. God only knows why –
At least I assume He does). When Pierrot visits
He remains silent, as he has now for centuries
And Jerome translates the silence without flaw.