Weighting At The Gate
They, the Norns, who sit and spin
The destinies of mice and men
Upon the weave and woof of time
Perhaps may understand the rhyme
And reason for facilities
Enhancing our puerilities.
But I, with knobby head and small,
Have yet to hear the ringing call
Demanding that I rise and shine
The brazen altar of the shrine
On which they say the fates are stored
Because they leave me slightly bored.
So when my friends of karma prate
I give to them a swinging gait.
Grady L. McMurtry
Originally published in Thelema Lodge Calendar, August 1988