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.