Twenty healthy brown African clawed dogs,
Racing away with eighty brown leather bags-
Tall, thick and broad.
Eh! They are rusted civilians!
Rough, round the black orb.
Once sat on a divan but never knew how it forbled our taste.
Like how the moon mocks the sun-
It has made out of us a shrill, mirthless cachinnation for many a decade.
More than egg with two blue breathing yolks cursed by swain of its abode:
Ours is a wedlock without grains.
Please dig my grave so I can linger before hunger prettifies our Begiant necks and lungs.
Just like In my swevens, a six feet hightener painted it
Paint my sepulchre with green red, and green colours,
So that the lies that lid the impure vestal-
Like the twenty brown African clawed dogs
Racing away with eighty Brown leather bags,
will fly!
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