Is ginger dry, jaguar?
The woolen dragon walks on the hearse
See the light
The hat on the sales man
The worst.
The mirror is the picture of the bush.
Hear the rustle.
The hearse is coming,
Hush, hush.
They are white,
Hounds sprang, the branch fell
Off, off.
All is the hearse that is heard, sir.
Lasting in horns.
So long is the unspoken word
Die dry
The runner, the wife, the hearse
For me.
And in the day, dry jaguar in wretched guess
So war is divine under tiffany and horn
Hush, hush
Off, off
Version Two: Trying to make sense of it all
�Is ginger dry, Jaguar?� she asked,
Crouching down beside him.
He looked, his brows crumpled,
At her unusual question.
�Shhh, it�s coming.�
They could see the light,
Like on the hat of a miner.
Just one, for the left one was burned out.
The fog came in with the hearse
Like a woolen dragon
Following behind.
The children crouched behind a violet bush.
The reflection they saw in the window was not of them;
The mirror was a picture of the bush.
Hush, hush.
Don�t make a noise.
Don�t hear the rustle.
A crack came from above
And they imagined hounds springing over them,
Breaking the branch.
All that is heard is the hearse,
The lasting horn.
And the children scampered
Off, off.