She mounts a dark horse In a galloping consumption Her stretching strega tongue Intractable with gumption Divulges a seething tale Gloating with presumption
Happy smiling corpse Her thinner date for dining The promise she rehearsed A hearse with silver lining No cure without her curse Her sweet teeth always grinding
The agape and leering hag Unquenched and craving slaughter Deaf-mute in a blizzard Burning for a daughter Fills the new meat wagons With tender tots who totter
No hot and foxy future state No afterworld of aftertastes On Doomsday waiting at the gates The forest crone deals a coup de grace With mortar and pestle she grates Returning to dust both love and hate
