- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Early Winter
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Short days of early winter, wild outside
with bare trees shaking in a western gale –
the shadows fade along the twilit dale
as on the drifting clouds the banshees ride
to pelt the fields below with biting hair
and frighten all the folks who hear them wail.
Upon the air the noises slowly change
and grow more threatening as evening falls.
Cold, shivering, we hear behind our walls
how in sharp blasts beyond the mountain range
the storm builds up. A far-off foghorn calls;
the world moans as the last of daylight palls.
- COMMENTS
twelveooneabout 11 years agogood end
the world moans as the last of daylight palls.
moans-palls.
what can i say about the rest, without raising ire, except I've seen things like this written in a half hour
Don't misunderstand, high order of craft is needed
