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A City Mouse In Dorsington

Felix Dennis
March 28, 2010
Mandalay, Mustique
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Such countryside breeds ancient fear,
The squeak-filled, scraping, scurrying night,
The cries of nameless things in flight,
A shriek one strains in vain to hear.

The thresh of leaves—a vixen’s bark,
The scratch of claws in thatched old beams,
A fearful pause, then evil dreams
Where headless horsemen roam the dark.

Nights here are like a winding sheet
That chokes the throat—as dry men drown!
Would that I were in London town
With concrete flags beneath my feet.