FOREWORD: Alternative version of William Blake's 'The Tiger', which features for comparative purposes only. Maybe this is more than just a poem about the misery and frustration of one 'tiger'.

NOT THE TIGER

Tiger! Tiger! In the night
Someone set your tail alight!
Round and round you chase the flame
Until the tip is black and tame!

In the hand that chose to burn
Flares another – Watch and learn!
Wise, the tail stays out of reach
And disappoints the toys that teach

Your dreadful glare its white with rage
So crowds will cheer you on the stage.
But hold your hunger! Laugh at meat!
Then bare your wrath – Strike with heat!

Forget the chair! Forget the whip!
(They’ve burned your tail black to the tip!)
Forget the shout! You must move fast!
(Revenge will now be yours at last!)

But the crowd – a blurry streak –
Frightens you and makes you weak.
Your wrath recedes! applauds the throng;
The prey has known you far too long.

Tiger! Tiger! Out of sight
In the confines of the night,
Heed no longer what you shame
And mourn the absence of the flame.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forest of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And What shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake