Thomas Lovell Beddoes (1803-1818 / England)
Thread the nerves through the right holes;
Get out of my bones, you wormy souls.
Shut up my stomach, the ribs are full;
Muscles be steady and ready to pull.
Heart and artery merrily shake,
And eyelid go up, for we're going to wake. -
His eye must be brighter -one more rub!
And pull up the nostrils! his nose was a snub.
Comments about this poem (Resurrection Song. by Thomas Lovell Beddoes )
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