A poem by Thomas Thornburg from Munseetown
This one beside me in his bed of pain
(He thinks he is about to die)
Sighs all the night and fills the night with sighs,
His mouth a red purse
Spills now a coin for Cristos, now a curse,
But always the sibilant refrain:
Nurse? Nurse?
A whispered shuffle in the hall announces
A sloe-eyed painted [...]
