26 JUNE 1953, Page 12

Death in a Summer's Day

Death in a summer's day

Came printless on a path of sand ; Sauntered to the window ledge With his skull-cap in hand.

To him, squatting outside, we threw Pieces and peeling, Wet tea-leaves, dry ashes, And the flakes from the ceiling.

Should he like Lazarus stay With his ulcerous sores, Begging for crumbs that never fall To him, out of doors ?

All people that on earth do dwell Religiously avert the eye, As hearse and hired funeral Drive swiftly by.

DAVID BUTLER.