And since nada Z uttered, 'twas nada we heard.
Proving overly close-mouthed, as still as the grave,
Z vouchsafed us no greeting -- not ceding a wave.
So: sprack Zarathus-? Nope! I deemed the dude dumb.
Z turned tacitly tongue-tied: the word remained 'mum.'
Zara's bouche bided buttoned. his pie hole stayed shut.
All channels of intercommunion were cut.
So: sprack Zara-? Nossir! Not even a whisper
(thus spurning our learning if Z were a lisper).
Z's soundlessness smacked of the uber-laconic:
no sonorous speeches; no spiels untrasonic.
So: heard we Z sounding the word of God? Nein!
Nor no word of Man neither. We'd nothing, in fine,
to display for our minding, unbinding our ears.
(Zoroastrianism's gone soft, it appears.)
