It heard the stumps of Its one-time mate go waddling back to the Feast.
And, once and again, It whined for the Meat; ere It slunk, like a tongue-lashed beast,
To the tinselled heaven of pulpit gods and the tinselled hell of their priest.
Aimée
WIFE AND COUNTRY
Dear, let me thank you for this:
That you made me remember, in fight,
England—all mine at your kiss,