In Dylan Thomas's word play is read,
That hunched houses, blind as moles, are spread,
Like covers, feather-downed,
To hush and muffle any sound,
The moon dares make, sneaking overhead.
Town named 'Bugger All' backwards, parades
Its hang-over from late night charades,
Not a voice can be heard,
Not a breath, not a word,
As the moonlight creeps in, wearing shades.
In Under Milk Wood...
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