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The Poetry Pages

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Dark December

A Bruised Sky Ripped Purple Hues,
As Dark December Sits To Muse,
From Her Single Window In The Tower.
And Although She Disapproves Their Views,
She's Still Elated At The News,
That Her Brood Returns Within The Hour.

She Counts The Time, Recites Her Psalms,
In Readiness Unfolds Her Arms
And Opens Up The Homestead's Only Door.
Safe From Strangers, Free From Harm,
Now Relaxed And Feeling Calm,
Her Children Place Their Trophies
On The Floor.

The Treasures They've Amassed Today,
Removed From Folk Along The Way,
Fall Moist And Wet Onto The Stony Ground,
For When Time's Children Are Out To Play,
Death's The Prize With Hell To Pay,
Now December's Brood Have Come Into Your Town.

Poem by Gary Lewis

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Copyright The Bentilean 1999

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