Burthens.

Although the skittish ladies link arms In alleys lit only by the moon And swivel heads in owl compasses Inciting aggravations By their circulations, Only shreds of cardboard squarely emballoon Across their path, singing A dark windscrape tarmac middle 8. They pale: they bolt: Blindly discoupling, shrugging arm-in-arm reins in false alarm, Too stout to bear the weight of petty fright