The Mould

This one really needs to be chanted. Think the first three three notes of a minor scale, going up and down. 

 

The mould’s unfolding up the walls,

From down below it creeps and crawls,

It seeps in every plaster crack

In musty, dusty blobs of black.

The walls are conquered, floor to top,

But still that mouldy mould won’t stop,

It seethes across the bedroom ceiling

(Cobweb-strewn and paintwork peeling)

Then it spreads its evil spores

By oozing smoothly under doors.

Its greedy grasp holds fast your clothes,

Your stairs, your chairs, your rugs, your throws,

Until that murderous mouldy mould

Has got the strongest stranglehold

On all your house, on all your stuff,

But for the mould that’s not enough

And so the mould comes marching through,

Until it’s suffocated

YOU!

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2 Comments to “The Mould”

  1. This is wonderful! So very reminiscent of an apartment I had as a student…shudder…!

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