In a ledger of Western type.
And all around him the wild beasts sway,
Cured of their mortal ills—
Flying squirrels from Sikkim way,
Silver foxes that used to play
Up on the Kashmir hills.
On the shelf of a cupboard a polecat lies
Laughing between his paws,
And there's more than a hint of amused surprise
In the gape of the lynx, in the marten's eyes,