Dead of the Dog

IT is dark There is a dog’s bark, I see a man so old Carrying on his bent back gold From hands of the nation: The dog with a rag of freedom In red, black, green, whitedom Following him from behind, I walk a way blind THE moon rises from east I hear the shriek of a beast I turn and look at state house, It looks like a grey mouse: The dog hangs down With coloured rag Round its throat, the flag The moon goes pale grey, I turn and walk a way, looking down.