05-02-13

And have you walked, my friend, and have you walked?

And have you stooped, stopped short by brackish air?

And have you crouched, my friend, and couching stalked

The mud besludged and stagnant lakish lair? 

And what, my friend, yes what did you find there?

A water baby, was it? Some fallen fay,

Slime-skinned, or furred, as one hirsute with bile,

A rigor-mortised toad-child mid-decay

With claws for feet beneath the phlegmy pile.

And did you squirm, my friend, and did you smile?

Oh worry not, I shan't look on you ill

For letting wonder outpace your disgust;

The curious will get their ghastly fill,

And naught's so rank as awe can't overcrust.

And awe is love, my friend, and love we must.