half-moon night

she sits
on a corner
of a wall
toes
dabbling
in
Glencar's
bog
blue
brim
her mind
beset
with
wonderings
of when
she should
have upped
and gone
that night
he called
for one
last time
but
duty
false
and
fear
sure
kept her
from
her future
fated
to sit
for
thirty
years
upon this
nether shore
when the
gentle breeze
and
shallow seas
brought
him home
once more
to visit
why
o
why
o why
had
she
not
gone
that
half-moon
night



Poetry by Peter Humphreys
Read 726 times
Written on 2007-07-26 at 18:37

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Mark J. Wood
The strongest chains aren't made of metal. It's often got something to do with the absence of the other word of that sound.

Would she have been different under a full moon?

Mark.
2007-07-31