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Comments about Anthony Blackwood
O Herr House Centipede,
Why dost thou terrify
When thou treadest upon my wall,
With thy trembling carapace
And legs like russet spindles?
Dashing amongst the leggy recesses
Of the table and his family of chairs,
Thou art a reedy wraith and I a quivering birch.
O, what dost thou do in the skulking shadows
And lonely loam beneath the thatch and brick,
When the sun, a circlet of gold, sinks beneath
A brocade of mahogany earth?
Surfacing from the depths so dark and so dank,
Thirty legs upon the floor do scuttle and
One may think them but a ...