Hanging OverA Poem by E.C.F. Doyle
Where will we be in our wandering hours,
When the quarter light splits the night And we toll the dreaded dower? Recalling divine heroes of mendacious dreams; Clad with charm and courage To win the heart of fair maiden. Never a vile wretch of visceral intent; Hound laden. We never question its worth, Trying to remember Memories of memories. Sunday morning was made For tapping at the door, And made to lurk about the house, Play the great predatory game, Building a dead man's gallows.
© 2013 E.C.F. DoyleReviews
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