It was scabby
Ugly and terrified
with skin like red velvet.
It crawled, hung, stuch to the floor
the paws red and abused.

The phantom walked past quietly
calm, distant, confused…
It was too heavy
And he held it
He grabbed it

By the paws, the scabby paws
By it’s weakness.
Not a sound did it utter,
Not a wimper:
A silent submission.

And I don’t know what won,
Which remote song of humanity sung
Of emptyness more ghastly than fear,
Hanging limply and calmly,
Like a shrivelled christmas turkey.