When John is done

When John is done he is not overdone.
He whispers his gold souk’s soul to go
Virtuously and he soon passes in soul
And nobody notices a passing of soul.

No trepidation occurs in outer spheres
Whose music is heard by poetic lovers.
A gold soul is more ductile than tactile,
You buy in a souk to melt and expand.

A geometrical and metallurgical fellow,
He is more a moving foot to other foot
Leaning virtuously to other fixed foot,
A perfect circle to make before a close.

When John is done he is not overdone.
No one sighs like cyclone in Bengal sea
Nor floods in an upper Gangetic valley.
No one in fact notices passing of John.

(taking off on John Donne’s poem A valediction forbidding mourning)