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Spirit in a Bottle by Andrew Hangsing

SPIRIT IN A BOTTLE

‘Twas just this afternoon that I met him,
Whistling, skipping up the winding road,
Picking up loose rocks and patting dogs,
Greeting all he met with a smile, broad;
Never a kinder man nor more full of cheer
Could ever be a passer-by, there.

Now he comes a-trudging, zig-zag walking –
His vision not, by veiling Dusk, helped –
Hurling abuses at bemused men
While the confused dogs could only yelp
As the cheerful lad of before now struggle,
Grasped by the spirit in a bottle.

A possessed man, a zombie now I see;
His trapped soul, if any, trying to flee.

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