The grey are borers
Who suck the life remnant
Of the youngst and watch
Them clash cycles on the highways
And gaze at them in long woods
Laid upon shoulders to where they
Are matched beyond with only
One possession of the world.

The gray who sit on cloth sacks
Trampling the world on three legs
Who match with our hands
Entwined into their rusky bony
Sides of no earthly flesh
Who lie on strong beds awaiting
Our most pampering care
That suck many a number to depression.

Why dosth thou the gray not bow to earth
If you have not paid death
Your good friend with our lives.
When you have feasted him
On the dinning table
Where you spill our blood
To dwell gain in hundred folds
And the youngst in twenties.

When hath the death who hath
All year long lurked in woods
Disembodied ever full of flesh
When you with no heart on
Would still boldly take mine
And leave ‘agots upon
A feast upon the body after which
They still partake of its glory.

Death why dosth thou kill the youngst?
If you have not accepted the token
From our gray who dined you
On our toils and fed you on our
Flesh and bath you in our blood
And lay you upon our hearts of
Tremendous facilitation.
Which our very lives dwell on.

You hath seen the youngst in toil
Where they suffer to gain a living
You had not for once helped out
When even on sick beds still
They moil to survive a day.
Through the four walls of education
You had with your bold eyes seen
But had given no helping hand.

Then why do thou
Take them away when they triumph
when with their gowns overflowing
with a cap hanging above their head
and in rows, snapshots of joy
when they had worked files in hand
and settled in offices
you became a visitor on barefoot.

you laid traps on highways
waiting them to fall prey
for the next feasting in the woods
where he shall stiff lie
in woods and be trodden upon
deep cries and wails
and wives on whites
and husbands on whites.

and death so kind that
The young have grown so old
And the old grown so young
That I myself don’t know where I lie
Whether I grow so old or young
Sure I still pay the debt
Cause even the gray die
And death takes back hand.