He loom’ so cagey he say ‘Leema beans’
and measured his intake to the atmosphere
of that fairly stable country.
His ear hurt. Left. The rock-cliffs, a mite sheer
at his age, in these places.
Scrubbing out his fear,—
the knowledge that they will take off your hands,
both hands; as well as your both feet, & likewise
might be discouraging to a bloddy hero
Also you stifle, like you can’t draw breath.
But this is death—
which in some vain strive many to avoid,
many. It’s on its way, where you drop at
who stood up, scrunch down small.
It wasn’t so much after all to lose, was, Boyd?
A body.—But, Mr Bones, you needed that.
Now I put on my tall hat.