Diocletian ran the known world <br />from his cabbage patch in Split. <br />Officially retired, he would sit <br />in that garden, dispensing advice. <br /> <br />Generals, Consuls, Courtiers <br />would seek him out to pick his brains. <br />All he asked in return, the ex-Emperor, <br />was that they each admire a cabbage. <br /> <br />Under his broad brimmed hat <br />he would spin the visual echo, <br />the tiny, emerald world, before their <br />glazing eyes he would turn it back and forth. <br /> <br />Eliciting praise for every rib and contour, <br />every shade of earthy green. <br />It wasn't too much to ask as he sheltered <br />from the Dalmatian heat. <br /> <br />An old, cunning man, who knew <br />how to run a world, promoted, <br />as he saw it, to growing cabbages <br />from seed. <br /> <br />Suitably directed, the 'powerful' <br />would return to Rome, <br />to carry on the machinations of <br />said crumbling Empire. <br /> <br />And all they had to do <br />was to admire a humble vegetable <br />Did any understand what Diocletian <br />was really telling them? .<br /><br />Neil Crawford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fair-exchange-2/
