Short Parodydark Poems

Vii: a Representor's Plea

Sir – dearest V.C.,
A freed representor asks:
(Now wipe off your streams, first!)
“Tell all the lads & lasses
Who owns those dark faces
Borne by the cars in that dark night:
Tell the ears of the forest,
Else, this long solace shall ring in vain,
They are not preferred to the insecure life!”