In dread of the grim reaper writes taut verse

 the bard of Hull, laureate

of the misanthropic universe.

Through the prism of his blinkered eyes

peering empirically at human sacrifice;

measuring life by the railway’s gauge,

which trundles troops

to the trenches where conflicts rage.

Weaving words on a doom laden loom:

a man not sent to, but born in Coventry,

surrendered to the shower of fiery arrows.

Death the enigma which locked him in its throes.