My footfalls in the unlighted hall,
Reverberate from an unseen wall;
Whether from length or maybe breadth,
For now they linger, evading death;
Brought on by darkened things unknown,
That swallow them ‘till they have gone.
It’s good, I think, that they die down,
Lest when the next one comes around;
It find no time to call its own,
Or chance to sound its sharpest tone,
Be muddled by the one before
And indistinct come its report.
It’s O.K. to slurp, at the bottom of the cup
But try not to burp, or let some come back up.
If you drink it too fast, a cola will fizz,
And run out your nose;
That’s just how it is.