Upon Hearing of the Anniversary of his Death

Is it really a whole year since you entered the tomb

Where worms lurk all night long, without song,

Without the flutter of a stutter from the womb

Whence came you from that darkened room?

It won't be long,

I hear you ask,

Where's the throng?

They're in The Flask!

Is it really twelve months since you gasped

Your last

In that frightful place? Rasped and rasped

So fast, so fast!

Or is it much longer since that door

Shut on your designer box? 

Half a century or more?

When a fox cried.

When a fox died.