by branksomegeelong, Victoria, Australia
Mar 2014 281 Views 0 comments
extracts
The sedge has withered by the lake
and no birds sing
Is there still balm in Gilead?
The moon walks the night in siver shoon
In the winter of my discontent
And yet great the day of joy to be born
as the waves ripple over sand
whilst greasy Joan doth keel the pot
of drunken feast and jollity.
and no birds sing
Is there still balm in Gilead?
The moon walks the night in siver shoon
In the winter of my discontent
And yet great the day of joy to be born
as the waves ripple over sand
whilst greasy Joan doth keel the pot
of drunken feast and jollity.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Mar 2014
About this poem:
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