A Burial (revised)

1st Revision They itch beneath the fringe of his attention - A crowd of fellow customers in black. The butcher’s boy is calling for twenty-nine To come to the counter - his voice a cathedral of chalk. The rain does what it can to clog the air, And other holes that fathers seem to fit But never fill. The priest blesses the water, Where a Lord a Thou and a Loveth float. Original They itch beneath the fringe of his attention; A crowd of fellow customers in black. The butcher’s boy is calling for twenty-nine To come to the counter - his voice is deep and dark. The rain does what it can to clog the air, And other holes that fathers seem to fit But never fill. The priest, he blesses the water, Where a Lord a Thou and a Loveth float.