The Goose & the Gander

Loosed stories upon the village

Their racket awakening the dead–

Or near dead, who cried out,

Foul fowl, shut thy throats

Before our knives do their work,

And tortured trumpet blares

Find yourselves displayed golden

Like musicians for the Duke

Arrayed on side boards

 Where hungry stomachs

Want only the music

Of loud mouths smacking,

And snarling canines

Snatching at your bones & flesh.

BONE PITS