The Plagues

I was only a featherer, the brown birds, when of a number I was also called to visit the plagues to the Booking towns.  And when ten of us were brought to Him, I hid behind them in the door;  but how did I offer my humility?  He said to us, “You shall make caries”;  “You shall cause brittleness”;  “You shall confuse”; “You shall take the skin”… There was a row to Him, of beautiful quarterfoils.  But how did I stand up?  He said to me, “You shall affect the heart.  And two and three shall go together, even five and six, but not you.”   And it was then reasoned among them that I should go first.  I did put out from a soft hill, with everything behind me.

 I trust upon You, even to violence.  But what do I have now at the gate, what voice have I, that I should not take even one, while nine other vengeances, who are also kind men, wait without the town and starve?

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                           © Habley Mouse, a Private Press, 2006.  All rights reserved.  (Poetry by William Frank)
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