by John Vance Cheney
War met him, and fell pestilence,
Sore toil and want, all the dread foes of every day;
These he struck down, then went he hence,
Sent by a soft cat-thing that clawed him in her play.
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War met him, and fell pestilence,
Sore toil and want, all the dread foes of every day;
These he struck down, then went he hence,
Sent by a soft cat-thing that clawed him in her play.