Monday's child on swift approach, a monster on the mount,

Sees Sunday's child turned lachrymose, a maudlin song abounds

Then ram

Then crow

Then cat did spy, and in a flash did flee

While bairn – now yoked with mother's tail – escaped into the sea.


I heard your song by the black Acheron

All salt-soaked and tugging on strings that at once

let rip heavy bellows and wimbering shrieks

Sure tore up them bellies of wander-lost freaks,

But I who cuts noses, clips ties and old cosys

Fared dance, drink and drown in that murkdrab of poseys.