Corpse
https://www.evernote.com/shard/s315/sh/3bac4119-33ca-4184-a4bc-fcfa7834415e/4c80907926b39ab1064b35c7dbbf687e Only: dread. The world I see is now, In the slow long heavily slumped Blunt march of a funeral, And overcast. A coffin, quite empty, is held; Too low. Unconforming. Not a thing good can ever come? If. What is spread refuses to die; Being toxic Is free without the casket. As the damp earth is pitched