Oh, poor green lassie, would you like to play hide-and-seek?! Why are you so alone, you silly one? Under the blue moon from the shawls that are not drained we can drink the violet grog? In eyes and in cold hair I see your dusky bays, spooky red piers, bone-ache flames, and nostrils wrapped in green ice.
The proud humidity you are swinging, inside your hot tear. Oh poor green lassie. You will not be able for too much longer; melting black rings; to breathe tiredly on my shoulder.
You ought to be strangled, dear. . . Unconscious in the heads of owls you will be — by straights of the brutal “Morning”.!.