I damn you, demon,
You chanter of black incantations;
Carpenter of funeral gowns.
Why have you clad me not?
Am I too loud a posture to drown
In the quiet of your dark cashmere?
Or are your services reserved
For young girls with the shiny eyes?
I'll not ask you to carry me;
I'll swim your river unaided.
I'll not ask you to open gates;
Just not to close them when you leave.
I'll sing your praises, louder than hers,
If only you'll let me stalk your shady gondola.