Oh the long-drawn, horrid night
The stars that taunt, the songs that haunt
All dreams throughout this visage blighted
Wronged and yet, so sweetly righted
Oh the soul-less, chaste to-do
Of comings plain and goings vain
In black-stacked coaches plunging through
The oak and beetled, barkled yew
Oh the monstrous calm that clings
With fingers chill upon my sill
And lingers in the frettish formings,
The lost old bones of many mornings
Crackled on the clew
4 comments:
one dark and internally stormy night.....
frighteningly stark....have been there too. i think we all have.
two thoughts come to mind while reading this marvellous descriptive poem Kate....
a very dark november night when the trees and life have been stripped bare. i find those nights the most lonely at that time of year.
and the legend of sleepy hollow....and the ride of the headless horseman. spooky and mysterious.....
i'm glad you're posting again.
I'm glad to be back too, thank you so much!! :) I am delighted to read your comments... they just fill me with so much energy and make me wish it was a cold, exciting November night... there is something so wonderful in that kind of loneliness, isn't there?
here's to the lost old bones of many a morning.... i can relate to that
Paulest of Pauls, I've missed you!!! What adventures have you been having??
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