"Ah," someone once said, "not for the wide world."

I guess that I cannot be Benedict, nor he I. Which entails that I may not think like him, walk like him, talk like him, hold honor like him. "Not for the wide world." No. Not at all for that. And definately not for me. In the least. I am but the dirt Benedict tread upon or the slap that he challenged with. But a tool compared to him who acts, to him who uses the likes of me. To he whose hat is buried with him, I am but a poor man in spirit whose hat is hung over him to remind him that his penance is far from over. Purgatory will become my home. Benedict will galliantly ride off into heaven slapping and stomping as he pleases. "As it pleases me." Except I am not. But he is. "As it pleases you." Then so be it.

I will cry for all my life, "hey nonny nonny."