Sonnet for the Second Coming (of Akiva)

Thy countenance thru scholar's trials, might
and moxie wrought in ev'ry fleeting smirk,
was not to be derail'd by glutton's blight
or drab vingettes of days devoid of quirk!
And so, bucolic vales became your rapture.
You soar'd 'bove man to idyll fath'ring plains
and free of trammell, bore the quill as sceptre
to mingle with the sprites of Dunsinane.
But, hark! As wand'ring ghouls of western land
succumb to silence, mourn the wondrous rime
and seek the counsel of a shepherd's hand,
mehears the salving footsteps of old time!
O' gallant plot, the verséd king returns
from shires afar to whet the seasons' turns!