The Bronze Horse

‘This be a man transformed by spell' Thus, passers-by. Through winter nights its bronze serves. Not just raindrops. Chill wind sear its hard head. When so, it rallies though in bronze. ‘For, ' said the Sage of Tall Beard Bronze relative be not as life relative? And be not in things be bridged in the Relative? Sang Sang the Old Man full of small wine: Yet Wisdom was in him, his every word. Hic esto homo per incantationes transfiguratus. Sic transeuntibus. Per hiemes noctes aera ministrat. Nec justo guttis. Frigidus in duris caput exaestuat Auster. Cum ita coit aereas. 'Quia' dixit Sapiens de Longa Barba Potin ut cognatus non sit vita cognatus? Ne in rebus retis in Relativo? Wisdom in the Bronze Horse, more in Thought of It. And Wisdom lights in the Thought of Things