looking down saw grubby fingers,
smuts from the fire, cleared early.
spit and hanky rub the mark away,
travel regardless. may be spring
cannot read your mind, sir, nor mind
the consequences of my stain.
i have sooty marks,the head is clear.
walk the canal path, eat cheese,
and softer figs.
oh my , these are the falling days,
the days of the life.