Sonnet CXXXVI

The burning heat had charred my weakened eyes
and on the ground I saw a horse’s tail.
I stopped. It was a frog’s poor legs and flies.
I saw the head as well, the tongue so pale.
And stretched along the body like a tree’s,
its twisted limbs, all gruesome green as dales.
The skin a flattened brown, ripped open, free,
the blood the colour of a rusted nail.

The flies – a million –all lucent black,
all crawling, fighting, filthy in their greed,
spread over their delicious feast of flesh.
At their delicious meat they crudely hacked,
the spoiling skin a more enticing treat,
all chewy, more than if it were more fresh.