Note how the title comes directly from John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress.
As hunter's wont, the deer's skull hangs fr'intents Upon the wooden porch, eye sockets' stale And empty hollows staring in betrayl Without a blink, forever, with a sense Of Death behind their deeper look, pretense Half shivring down to nothing, bones dried, frail What? shrinking at the ghastly sight, birds hail From greenest trees where life sings in defense. And I...observe in silence, like as twere Some child. This womanhood I never knew, Which crept on me ere I was 'ware, in tour A joke which laughs 'non in my face. Skies blue With whiter cloud battalions, winds bestir These Maples to soft whispers in what, too?
I wanted to detail the dried bones' appearance, to no avail.