The Poem

And so I’m told, on a night so cold
In a forest black and deep
There hangs a scene whose none ears had seen
A swollen cloud of speech
Their throats turned out, like empty pockets shrug
And feathered in crimson drops
And from his hand a sword did land
Upon this mossy rug
Two babes had their tip-top bells well rang
And sang in whispering reeds
Was loud and bright for such a darkened night
A cloudless night indeed
And in the morn, a lark did land
Upon this upturned hand
The yellow breast was unimpressed
At this retreat to the land