Oh look there’s something way up high
A creature of hunting in the sky
It is not merely sitting there
But falling slowly through the air
Look there’s grouping and gold leaf
Were leveled with the evening trees
Morose inflexible colours
Its gone right through and come to rest
On great grand uncle, oh great jest
Its settled further in the night
And gave the maid an awful fright
It burst without a look or word
Its metaphors floor the third
The week went by it made its way
A little lower everyday
Each time they thought it might have stopped
One found however where it dropped
When one had just walked it can’t be meant
It did not linger after all
Forever in the after
? in time
We shall not sing anymore