What instrument of fear larks?
What loss or pain?
What grunting black fancy yells?
You look into that hailstorm,
And feel, you are wounded with lumps of ice-piece
Stuck in your throat.
You feel, you are swallowing as if you were
As helpless as a snake,
Taking a food, heavier then it can afford.
Digestion leaves you no choice --
You need a powerful stomach.
Fear the food you take,
Fear the blank pain lives in you.
Fear, none but yourself
That, at the end, haunts your shadow.