The Spectator Come, Lie in my glass coffin, dear Feet below dank earth Taste, devour, sour vapour In soft, and gentle bursts Now Mother, she grows quite languidly Father scuttles past; His time drums on and on and on This heavy #life, my dear, shall pass My bones have become ashen, sore; Dry, skin Sooty, pale, grey My mind has gone to pieces, pieces- But breathe for me my dearest Whilst I, wither, a way Spectator of this lovely horror; I see, though I am blind, I hear you Flutter on fast; no faster! dear... Don't weep, for I'm alive. SC
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