This lifeless vale of lying bones and skulls <br />houses no one, or days that we have had <br />but shall have us in court as the sort calls. <br /> <br />It is the grim reaper's with a large scythe, <br />argus-eyed, clothed in a black cloak, with <br />a hood; although many painters say lithe. <br /> <br />Empty gourds with a parrot's egg in each, <br />he would open, snipping a thread. I bruit, <br />this bridge of asses widely borne eldritch. <br /> <br />Now, promise me that you will be alright. <br />'tis, here, walking the path over the orbs <br />with limbs flung wide as in a windy flight. <br /> <br />Ay! It is a toy horse caused to come forth; <br />so, stretched out to view. For a name it is, <br />too, upon potsherds or shells effaced not. <br /> <br />Free from the open life and held endwise <br />in lack of ease; a discharge without dues <br />earned for the airies and fell Lord of flies, <br /> <br />Lower me in the depth the grave did cast <br />beneath your breast to envelop my case; <br />hereupon, you will get whole at long last. <br /> <br />As for the ill hoe and spade that inhume, <br />and this disc of the moon across the blue, <br />fly at the thewy wings of his foul broom.<br /><br />Faeo Lyre Clive<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/exiled-8/
