Through black silk space on iron ships
the cold of I-ness meets his lips
a cool embrace of warmth on dark
was purple-red to those at bay.
His finger met the hot white pad
unsure of what fun to be had
of whether bugs were men or not
and just how fair it was to play.
His voice was crisp as crackled leaves
as soft blue flow of river weaves
and soothed his blind companions when
they're told of what they faced that day.
His cancered brain could take no more
he'd done what they had made him for
and in his rests he dreamed he'd be
in some bright land so far away.
Bright sun shielded by wide winged lark
feather fluff grass like sleeping hens
laid side by side cross acre lots
a field wide bed or soft white sea.
His head rested above her hips
as cool clear water stars had heaved
to quench the thirst of dame and lad
and calm their souls forever more.
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