Page:The Recluse by W Paul Cook.djvu/82

 Forevermore. My corpse was once a festering sore, And rotten in each swelling pore, And rotten to the very core, But now that time is gone of yore Forevermore. My body will not pour A noisome pool as once before. My bones are hoar Forevermore. Dark, dank, cold, dead, Silent, still, old, dead; Dead, dead, Forever dead. Dead, dead, Forever dead. Flesh? Fled. Forever fled. Body? Spread. Forever spread. Soul? Dead. Forever dead. Forever dead, dead, dead.