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Poem	Dick's dead! It was the Polack guard Put powdered glass into his cage When I was tramping round the yard,-- I could have killed him in my rage. I slugged him with that wrench I stole: That's why I'm rotting in the Hole. Dick's dead! Sure I wish I was too. His honey breast, his lacy claws I kissed and cried, for well I knew They murdered him. I cursed because He was my only chum on earth . . . Oh how he cheered me with his mirth! Dick's dead! I know he cared for me. Being I'm Irish I love song, And there was heaven in his glee; I'd bless his heart the dour day long. I'd let him flutter round the cell; He'd light upon my hand . . . Oh hell! Dick's dead! They've thrown me in the Hole. To break our spirits how they try! My bed a plank, blind as a mole, Sure I'll be nuts before I die . . . Here in the night, dark as the Pit I'm seeing sunny wings aflit. Here in the silence, hark his song! --Poor Dick! Oh Christ, how long, how long!
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