here is little Effie’s headwhose brains are made of gingerbreadwhen the judgment day comesGod will find six crumbsstooping by the coffinlidwaiting for something to riseas the other somethings did–you imagine His surprisebellowing through the general noiseWhere is Effie who was dead?–to God in a tiny voice,i am may the first crumb saidwhereupon its fellow fivecrumbs chuckled as if they were aliveand number two took up the song,might i’m called and did no wrongcried the third crumb, i am shouldand this is my little sister couldwith our big brother who is woulddon’t punish us for we were good;and the last crumb with some shamewhispered unto God, my nameis must and with the others i’vebeen Effie who isn’t alivejust imagine it I sayGod amid a monstrous dinwatch your step and follow mestooping by Effie’s little, in(want a match or can you see?)which the six subjunctive crumbstwitch like mutilated thumbs:picture His peering biggest wheycoloured face on which a frownpuzzles, but I know the way–(nervously Whose eyes approvethe blessed while His ears are crammedwith the strenuous music ofthe innumerable capering damned)–staring wildly up and downthe here we are now judgment daycross the threshold have no dreadlift the sheet back in this way.here is little Effie’s headwhose brains are made of gingerbread



