Giving Up The Ghost
My haunted Angel smiles and says"Today it's time that punishment fit the crime."
Like an ill worn suit words wrought
Won't rhyme,
Cuffs frayed at the end of thought
"The Night will come to take away all these things."
With an infinitely sad sigh she gave up the ghost
"Holy, holy," she sings.
"Home to a garden eternal I return."
As like a shadow of dew on Summer lawns she f l e w . . .
.
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
Read 909 times
Written on 2016-04-06 at 12:41
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