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  • Writer's pictureCorbin Allardice

Poem 17 - Maybe (Untitled)

And maybe?...maybe?...

The devil played me like Job,

Smelled how the stink of prey from me arose;

And then he reached out and touched my hand,

And led me to his alter, impure and grand.

Un efsher?...efsher?...

Hot der nit-guter mit mir zikh geshpilt,

Er hot fun fartsukung dem reyekh derfilt;

Un demolt hot er es mayn hant ongerirt

Un hot mikh tsum tome mizbeyekh farfirt.

*- This seems to be a poem or fragment in it’s own right, but it is possible that it is the intended conclusion to poem 16. This seems somewhat unlikely as it diverges from the meter and rhyme scheme of the last 2 stanzas of poem 16, however that poem is not of a consistent meter, so it is difficult to be certain.

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