A known martyr lies at time’s rim.
This is an absolute Victim.
A lively hero swings them safe.
Then, Tarzan’s armpit starts to chafe.
Left alone, the monk really tries;
To cease believing ablist lies.
From the perch where he was planted;
This saint became disenchanted.
Safe, for heroes, is lone on high…
& this little cleric can’t fly.
Handy vine in the stronger clutch…
& told himself he “could” & such.
Landing now, a lowly vicar.
Whose own estimation’s “Victor”.
L.B.Stowe 