They gather on the plains of Babylon.

“It's party-time dear friends!”, the invite reads.

“Let's shake it down and cross the Rubicon.”

“A stairway up to heaven is our need.”

The plots they thicken, artful plans are honed.

They build their zigurrat to breach the blue.

Bizarre bed-fellows meet and greet, combine

In shifting shapes to overthrow the throne.

“Rise up! Throw down...

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Is that our home, there, where we hang our hats?

There, where we boil our eggs and stroke the cat?

Knowing each cranny of our ingle nook

We turn the pages of our well thumbed book.

Home, sweet home!, yet, there is still an unease.

Cat-like it comes, our peace to paw and tease.

Close the castle door! Put the kettle on!

This is my chez-moi!, - for, how ever long?

We stand at...

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