LAMENT

The mole was dead upon the ground;

He did not move when he was poked.

His coat was sleek, his body round,

His life revoked.

His parts seemed not to coincide:

His hands were stuck on at the wrist;

He was long-nosed and squinty-eyed,

A humorist.

He looked too healthy to be dead;

His feet were white, his face was droll,

But he was tragic dust instead

Of comic mole.