From A Voice Plantation
Robert Pollard
It
Who no longer can listen
It
Saw a gusty wind
Come up to listen
Before I was ten
and all of the evil grids
From a hill where rats consider
And they gang
And they topple
And they send a smoke ring
Into the onion field
A ghost!
And this can make you choke
Coming from the throat
Of a ghost!
And sent to my weak knees
From a voice plantation
All in together
In terror