I'm he whose face is ever hid, <br />That unseen silhouette in shades- <br />Aloof, yet ever here amid <br />The winded wheat with reaping blades. <br /> <br />My dwelling none shall ever know, <br />My goings none shall ever see- <br />Til I arrive, my face to show, <br />No soul shall ever know it's me. <br /> <br />Whitechapel is my threshing floor... <br />The scythe and sickle- ah, the tools. <br />The grain? - the harlot and the whore. <br />The yield? - a city full of fools.<br /><br />John May<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jack-the-ripper-4/
