The Poem

And so I'm told, on a night so cold

In a forest black and deep

There hangs a scene whose none ears had seen

A swollen cloud of speech

Their throats turned out, like empty pockets shrug

And feathered in crimson drops

And from his hand a sword did land

Upon this mossy rug

Two babes had their tip-top bells well rang

And sang in whispering reeds

Was loud and bright for such a darkened night

A cloudless night indeed

And in the morn, a lark did land

Upon this upturned hand

The yellow breast was unimpressed

At this retreat to the land