Skimmed my mulligan stew;
Laid beneath the barren hedge—
Sleety night-winds blew.
Slanting rain chills my bones,
Sun bakes my skin;
Rocky road for my limping feet,
Door where I can’t go in.
Above the hedgerow floated filmy smoke
From the hidden singer’s fire. Once more the voice:
I used to burn the mules with the whip