The yellowblue was chanting loud,

And sulphurbubbled steam did scream

Through all the shifting waves of mist

Above an algid stream.

 

Both dank and ocean claimed the land,

When, coiling through the acrid sludge

And beaming through the sullen soil

Mr Worm did trudge.

 

A SWAN came in with purple wing

And, retching lungs, he heaved the smog,

Such pain then felt his bill so worn;

A jaundice in the fog.

 

The curdled eyes were met and set.

The two with spite their gaze then bled;

The two with caring calm instead.

SWAN snapt forth his head.

 

WHO WOULD THINK THAT LIFE COULD BE

Proclaimed the first to be of three—

The SWAN looked down and on the ground

He Mr Worm did see.

 

The form vermiculate, unmoved,

Drew in the haze of bitter aether,

Weighing with his stare the ice

Of fear that lay beneath.

 

The curdled eyes were met and set.

The two with spite their gaze still bled;

The two with caring calm instead.

SWAN dragged back his head.

 

HEED ME CYGNUS HEAR ME CALL

THERE IS NO LOVE BEYOND THE PALL

OR WAITING HAND TO SHOW TO ALL

THE LIFE THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN

 

And then arose that comatose—

The EARTH. Beyond the verdant husk,

A worn, cyaneous rotund

Saw Mr Worm esq.

Image Neil Hancock