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B. E. Burgess

of

Edinburgh, Scotland, UK

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The Church Mole

by

B. E. Burgess



A bouquet scents the worthy man
Although his nose has much decayed
A woman with a watering can
Remembers how the memories fade

Some bright red flowers with long green stems
Rose out from the flowering pot,
She pulls out weeds to make amends
And affectionately tends his plot.

Then up popped a moleīs pointed head
With a grin so dirty and lewd,
He opened his razors and said,
Itīs good to be under the blue

Sky I like to see now and then,
After burrowing through the bones,
Iīve been chewing the shins of your friend,
He said using delicate tones.

She flustered about in a rage
Searching for the words to return,
When he spoke of her lovers rib cage
She scooped up the mite with an urn.

The next time to the yard when she came
She wore a black mole skin skull cap,
And she tried once again in vain
To mourn what remained of her chap.