traipsing through marshland with gumboots,
cane and compass, swatting at lambs
and apparitions of lambs in the mist,
grinning when the oak shaft connects
with something more solid than vapour.
He is in search of Winter's stomach;
once he finds it, old Sodden fully intends
to slit himself a sly entrance
then tuck up inside, relishing its caustic
warmth, the stripped carcasses'
slow relinquishing of their chastity.