Epitaph
The wind is howling through the old oak trees.
Who would have thought?
Sweet smiling eyes, sweet eyes smile,
Whisper your secrets in a cat’s ear
But I can see you. The hunter is here.
Lift up your frock, at least above your knee
And the wind is howling, howling through the trees.
I can see you hovering in the corner of my eye
First left, left to right and sink lower again
It was a back tooth wish this time,
Quarter for quarter and swallow a dime.
The first clock is chiming but the last keeps the time.
And the wind is howling, and the trees cry.
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