Delightfully weaving through openings plenty A feast for a king awaits upon entry In darkened halls, once quite bright The champion crawls, a show of might No candles are lit, yet he sees just fine And as petrichor lifts it is time to dine “Grant me thine blessing” reads the inscription Overlooking an osteon-clad spiritual eviction The low in the caste have gathered ‘round Despite all their numbers, they make not a sound But the gnashing of teeth as they bite from the flesh Even maggots, it seems, must thresh But the host maintains a grizzly grin His party manifest of sin While his beloved thinks him lost They all knew the precious cost