I tear my bones
To try and not
Hear the drones,
Drill in dot.
But soil so ill
Is where I tread.
Shriek when fill
Buddhist debts.
Behind the pillars
In cenotaphs,
Edge killers
Of my calfs
I bread bogged down.
So they would claim
The forest crown,
Clear my name.
Fear my ingrowns!
Alas, they rot,
Drink the drones,
Drill in dot.