JULIAN THE APOSTATE
He stank of Christian enthusiasm.
Like malaria it would linger still,
His whole reign was one short breathless spasm
A churchy zealot whom his faith made ill.
Rebel children still bear their father’s look,
He tried to He organise a tangled web
Of myth and custom, make a creedal book
Out of quaint stories that should quietly ebb
Away with dignity. We had to laugh
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