Mourn the morn

Dank the morn that broke or’ the moor

Where sheep were shorn naked as the poor

In ranker to mourn the beheading of the corn

Where seeds unborn from the womb are torn

Dancing shadows to the music of the wind

A Rose in death throes on her chest pinned

Bent with reason he twisted with hope

Was a dark season to cope with a rope

Black are the deeds that sprout these seeds

parted from weeds where roots of anger bleeds

Snatch the ring of brass, before it does pass

In shoes of broken glass, with a smile dance a waltz of class

Reviews

[Betty Hermelee]

Dear Soren
A very descriptive piece about the doldrums of winter, where everything hides from us....but deep underground many activities are born,even though the days are short and the darkness is long...many of us become depressed when we see such black.... try to hold on to your imagination of the season you love that will bring you hope and joy......NICE!
Warmly, B

[Marie]

The month of December and Winter are very finely captured through both depiction and excellent word choice in this magnificent poem, dear Soren. I could almost feel the damp of the morning as I read the first verse. The darkness of depression which some beautiful souls feel in the darker days of Winter is excellently captured in the second stanza. The blackness of death and decay in Winter is finely flecked for your reader in the third verse. Lovely use of metaphor and various figures of speech, dear Soren. I so enjoyed reading and look forward to Spring, to brighter days when Nature will be renewed again. Thank you for sharing. Lovely work!