This being one of the days for me
When the word death tolls, I find
The chapel of O Spes Unica
I’ve driven to see is closed;
In which, on black touch, a poet
Of a poet says “I was his friend.”
For whatever reason, because a boy
Yesterday smashed off a staid
Effigy’s alabaster toes, or because
Today the verger’s dead or to his
Married daughter in Nottingham goes, I say
The chapel of O Spes Unica is closed.
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