Beyond traffic stealing homewards and the mellow blackbirds cry
Before me and my eye lie of sad foot fat and tied
Belonging to a fellow who in a mac of yellow leaning backwards to the keel
Head over heel had found himself drowned and drifting through the town
like a piece of wood Old and stood.
Sewers and Canal's his path tramps viewing queerly as his yellow mass doth pass
he must have meandered to my feet the colour of a diseased winter's wheat
What was the mystery of the scurvy looking treat that doth tassle my feet
Touching my belly weak and my eyes like a seeping teet
Nausea still I trampled on swiftly forgetting the massy pong of the throng
they crowded still around the corpse deciding on neither knives nor forks
But yet to slash him from his bone digging into the well known
And gone before the sounds of slicing found my ear I gandered merry beyond the near .
Cadaver's gone from my head and darkest lanes in cobbled wake
Thought Instead to means of bread
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