Michael Hartley stood between the gates of heaven and of hell
with hardly any stories to tell or exploits to confess.
He’d been with major Lawrence, down the front in old Cairo,
but had not followed him through to Faisal and the sea.
So, there stood Michael Hartley, at the gates of old St. Peter
having lived up to no glory, nor succumbed to no excess.
Yes, there stood Michael Hartley, a fine, but mellow, fellow–
as wise as all the sages and a prophet for the ages.