On a morning when the grey skies rained down sleet,
I stuck my left foot into the abyss;
I shook it to and fro, and then switched feet,
And thought how all must end with death's bleak kiss.
I twisted all around in primal pain,
Knowing some purblind god ordained my doom;
I did the hokey-pokey in the rain.
"Is this what it's about?" I cried. The gloom
Made no reply, but stayed mute as the tomb.