THE MARKET-PLACE

'Come unto me all ye
that are laden with grief,
for I shall give you
a good rule,' said one.

'Come unto me all ye
that are dulled by dry skin
for I shall give you
a good cream that will
keep you soft and fresh
all day,' said another.

Beneath the drowsy lamp-post
stood a lone girl
that cared not for the good rule
nor for the good cream.
In her tattered frock
she looked for one
who could buy her
for some pelf.

A TRYST WITH DEATH

I heard him jingling the bell
down the corridor,
and with a sigh
I mused over the thigh
of the white maid
as I nodded to the fading knell.

Saline dripped into my vein,
smudgy walls came closer,
and I saw the butterfly
flapping her wings dry
in the pungent air
lulling my benumbed brain.