THE SHAPE WAS A MAN.
WILL GRASPED HIS LEFT ARM AND
TRIED TO HAUL HIM UP ONTO THE RIVERBANK.
THE BALD HEAD, THROWN BACK, TRAILED GRAY,
WISPY STRAGGLES OF HAIR.
THE DEAD MOUTH HUNG OPEN,
A BLACK GAP IN THE PALE BLUR OF FACE,
AND THE EYES SEEMED TO BE OPEN TOO.
EVEN IN THE DARKNESS I KNEW THAT TERRIBLE FACE,
FOR I HAD SEEN IT EARLIER THAT DAY
AS IT WRITHED IN ANGER.
IT WAS THE FACE OF OLD FARMER SPEIGHT,
AND HE WAS DEAD.
