A low brown hole in its low brown side.
Brambles and briars, else was nought,
Toothed were the thorns as I strove and wrought,
With bleeding fingers toiled and fought.
Sudden they yielded, I espied,
A hole wherein a man might hide,
Tall stones there were on either side.
And straight my lips gave forth a cry,
“Help! Or unshriven she’ll surely die!”
There was no answer but a sigh.