Matthew J.Baxter

The Rising Of The Dead

His world was a’ blunder,
His soul all asunder,
His heart deep in sorrow lying and popped,
His mouth in sullen sadness dread-fully dropped,
His shoulders hanging, like a slave and a bag,
His hair all bedraggled, like a little old hag,
And his eyes looking forwards, and down again,
His chest full of lead as it built up in pain,
His hands lying limply by his side,

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