Hameln

Remember the bitter time:
cold, reeking fog,
bloated bovine corpses,
pye-dogs wailing,
trickle, stickle
once full stream.
Mist in the valley,
poison in the field.

‘Two red moons just last month;
two-headed calf still-born;
a cock laid a motley egg.
Long corn dying,
October passed by.
Snakeskin wrinkled in the road;
crows snub the carrion
shadows in the signs.

‘Bells ringing, carts hauling
many limbed human beasts.
rank miasmas, cruel rime.
The rats have come.
The land is cold
feeling winter’s kiss.
Horsemen on the low road,
the reaper walks behind.’