For ten years El Cid's cinnamon-stuffed body sat
In an ivory chair in Saint Peter's monastery.
Some monks called it "Senõr Cadaver." When
It started strutting about in their dreams
They laughed, though not unkindly. Assume
The world is to be made anew; what of this
Should we try to keep -- perhaps the chair
And some of the cinnamon-stained bones?
At least one of the monks' dreams, surely.
Perhaps two.
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