sonnet Your sainthood coins the

Your sainthood coins the painters silver sun
Your shielding shadow sheds me coolest guile
Your shepherds dial resets a browsing mile
Your philosophy enfolds all yet none
Your rookies ruminate the rude things done
Your sunrise east prods forth my flock in file
Your sunset west drags back my flock a mile
They call my calendar of cud a run
The rainbow tones of waterfall enthrall
I sit on lava lumps where newts maimed creep
And grow again their legs and tails in deep
The flock has grazed in circuit homing haul
I bow to mild you master teach me truth
You nod as not to burn that crowd uncouth
Chorus truth fact verity