IN A RED CROSS HOSPITAL

Today I saw a face — it was a beak,

That peered, with pale round yellow vapid eyes,

Above the bloody muck that had been lips

And teeth and chin. A plodding doctor poured

Some water through a rubber down a hole

He made in that black bag of horny blood.

The beak revived, it smiled — as chickens smile.

The doctor hopes he'll find the man a tongue

To tell with, what he used to be.