Tell it to the forest fire, tell it to the moon,
Mention it in general to the moon
On the way down,
He’s about to have his lady, permanent;
And this is the worst of all came ever sent
Writhing Henry’s way.
Ha ha, fifth column, quisling, genocide,
He held his hands & laught from side to side
A loverly time.
The berries & the rods left him alone less.
Thro’ a race of water once I went: happiness.
I’ll walk into the sky.
There the great flare & stench, O flying creatures,
Surely will dim-dim? Bars will be closed.
No girl will again
Conceive above your throes. A fine thunder peals
Will with its friends and soon, from agony
Put the fire out.