1348 – somewhere in England.

I’ve never been so vague

As when I caught the plague

Back in fourteen thirty eight

It left me in a state…

Of confusion

I was suffering grandeurs of delusion;

My toes didn’t count up to ten;

Then they didn’t count up to ten, again;

I couldn’t count on them.

I wandered to the church

With a stagger and a lurch;

Finding little Solace there: ‘Hello, little Solace; how’s your mare?’

But, little Solace’s mare had died;

And wouldn’t carry little Solace far and wide

Any more.

And so I wandered off to war,

In just the ragged clothes I wore;

But, knowing not the way to go,

I wandered where I do not know;

And by and by I ended up,

At yonder inn, a drink to sup;

If money had, which I have not;

And so I wait here for a tot

Of rum

To appear;

Some time, I may be waiting here.

And so, I vaguely write these words

And await the end of Edward Third’s


To come

When we shall have so much more

Or some.


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