Silence comes and the leaflets drop
Imagery blurs of serpentine smoke
Epiphanies of the eye, pop
On the forthcoming of you, bloke:
Iba.
Your name the mouth will never tell
Neither will limbs uphold you t'night;
Nor nostrils welcome your crude smell
From your vulturine armpits' plight.
Iba.
Men, dilate foodpipes o' hungry graves
Women, tear-logg'd than water pots
Children cry in crest, trough of waves,
All had done all and cast their lots
Iba.
And I am still here, mild as breeze
Waiting for you to passaway,
With your weariness, flu and sneeze
You enthrust upon me today.
Iba.
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Thank you for the explanation. It helps to understand the importance of the word flow.