‘What spot do you aim at?’ by Wystan Hugh

"O where are you going?" said reader to rider, "That valley is fatal where furnaces burn, Yonder's the midden whose odours will madden, That gap is the grave where the tall return." "O do you imagine," said fearer to farer, "That dusk will delay on your path to the pass, Your diligent looking discover the lacking, Your footsteps feel from granite to grass?" "O what was that bird," said horror to hearer, "Did you see that shape in the twisted trees? Behind you swiftly the figure comes softly, The spot on your skin is a shocking disease." "Out of this house"---said rider to reader, "Yours never will"---said farer to fearer "They're looking for you"---said hearer to horror, As he left them there, as he left them there.

‘What spot do you aim at?’ said bookworm to backload: That low strip is fatal as kilns hotly burn, It’s got a big dunghill, its odour’s a lungful, That gap is a tomb from which lofty folk turn.’ ‘O is it your notion’ said pallid to payload, ‘That dusk will hold back on your path to yon pass, Your small-tooth-comb looking track down what is lacking, Your footfall go groping from gabbro to grass?’ ‘O what was that bird’ said to auditor awful, ‘Did you spot that form amid twigs twisting thick? At your back swiftly that thing’s coming softly, That spot on your skin dubs you horribly sick.’ ‘Out of this building’ said backload to bookworm, ‘Yours will not do it’ said payload to pallid, ‘You got you a manhunt,’ said auditor, 'awful.' Your man didn’t stay, your man didn’t stay.