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.
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