X: the Corpse By the Ref

Dearest Prof – Upstairs, downstairs: Racing ref-wards: lasses (Prof, a roused lad saw them) Breaking through the prime fogs Racing like some fleece-hunters Led by a night-gowned lass (Where could they be going?) The peering at something in soils: Some retreated – wordless! Like a soul peeved by a sight. Dearest V.C. – Many racing clay of lads: restless! Racing ref-wards as the lasses (Prof, a roused lad saw them) A corpse at the rear of our ref (Prof, a roused lad saw it there) The thick stagnate flood The naked log devoid of pistils Was it a sermon for each beast? (Who cut down this limping tree From this famous forest of pantology?) Dearest Prof – Each beast: even rabbi-beast Came and saw himself In a log: that naked log “A rebel caught by pig-watchers!” (A roused lad herd it told!) Was the log alone in the mad act? The corpse by the ref Whose flesh & blood was he? And those two dry logs lying at Medical Centre Whose bones & blood were they?