Wednesday, 24 August 2011


‘Tis strange how he galumphs, galumphs

A foot hurt, marching in dog days.

The moor’s grasses slashes, skin-deep

Like saltwater to a cut

Agony he feels

And elephantine he goes

Galumph, galumph

He goes

Cape and hood, soot and dust

A bag, vacant



Poor boy he is

A life vexes and perplexes

Him this much

Yet, still he shows

A young face,


Fairest light of hope

“May thou live for a time so long thee live,

And end up with a life

Frabjous and exuberant”

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