‘Cackle cackle, Mr Goose,
Have your secrets tumbled loose?
‘No!’ Said the Goose, ‘pluck me clean!
I have no secrets, you will see!’
One by one his quills were plucked
unsatisfied, she strung him up.
Around his neck a fraying rope
His wings and tail cleaved, disposed
in boiling water once was drowned
His skin needled, the last pins pulled out.
Joints and skin cut, organs detached,
till finally his wishbone snapped.
‘Cackle cackle, Mr Goose,
I wish your secrets to come loose!’
Nothing happened. There was no sound,
for there were never any secrets to be found.
The goose said nothing and from his eyes
honest tears watered the ground where he died.
