When we expire and breathe no more The heavy air of our lunchtime wine We will not hear the jazz blade's carp Nor will we bend the tattered ears of circus bears So blowing wind, unfurl the folded cloud And clear a mile of sky as I pronounce An end to gravity and earthly woe The feathered rover's burden lifting ounce by ounce
One damson eye for Boxing Day And lip raised high like a brazier's weld An ailing friend still on the mend Consents to point his pundit eye daughterly The pond is leveled plain, no gasp disturbs The knuckles of these sun-forsaken hills The feathered rover is on the wing The thing of majesty sequestered in him still