Wednesday, October 23, 2013
A strange old rat-maker whistled over the sea,
He made the rats blind and perfect and supreme;
With the passing rivers the rats wept and dived,
And the the rats were reproducing for the old deaths.
The deaths were old, and old were the deaths,
This black plague was another knot and power of life,
These deadly acts were rats of difficulty,
They spun webs like spiders and clothed themselves.
The rat-making passed into the regime of creation,
It was the omen and its meaning to tell.
One rat solved our crisis when rats dissolved,
Then something else forgot what the rats brought
With silence and destruction in the mists.
The strange old rat-maker had to be discussed
By soldiers in the foggy dust in the vibrant world.
Let these verses be pride and verses,
These poetic systems are dissolved again.