When to the Park
I came
My Grave to dig,
‘T was so dark
I didn’t care a Fig
As to Someone
by chance
pass by
and spy
The way
I lay
my dear Self
to dy.
The Morn
was Bleak;
the Moon
lit through the Mist;
My Will was Weak,
and yet
it did insist
and bid me
dig
non-stop,
And so I did,
Until
with much
hip-hop
I plunged
and hid.
Then came
the Mighty Death
and waived his Hand;
In Vain
I wriggled in Wreth:
That WAS the End.
The Soil
refilled
the Grave -
and at the Time
My Life
was killed -
save
my Sweet Style
Sublime!