The curious case solved, of a coffin dislodged from its eternal rest in Norwood,
The friable soil, in which it lain just a short time, undermined by leaching and soaking,
Creating a morass hidden from the eye,
The earth’s tissues collapsible,
Gently ushered from the place of interment
And caused to journey on the subterranean Effra, the river bricked over in earlier years,
— absent stars, shadows encouraged—
As being more convenient for the city,
For growth, for life and all its needs.
By trial and error, blunder, with hiatus, with collision,
It may have wedged upon a time, free water sluicing past,
Dammed the river for a day, a month,
With only the one path,
Forced to it, eventually,
Blind pressure providing the greater power, breaking down the obstacle (but God has wrought the river),
This box travelling in all no less than five miles distance, before it met the Thames at Vauxhall, to regain the light of day,
And there to be seen by the quick.
Here was no crime, no true nightmare
(Nor even a mastermind who might turn this macabre occurrence to their own nefarious scheme),
The transfer was effected by natural agency alone.
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When No One is Looking by Hannah Shilling is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.