The ferry that transported souls
Way across the river
Was anchored in the harbor
Where anyone would shiver
Who saw it through the mist:
I think it might be you
Whose name was on the list,
O pussycat afflicted
From ankle to the wrist
With sores that seemed addicted
To something in your blood
Through which they multiplied
And surfaced through the flesh
And made you wish you died
While infancy was fresh
While still inside the womb
Or in your mother's arms
For whom also a tomb
Has beckoned from afar
For immortality inside a labelled jar.
