Perched high upon the remnants
of a pointless arch,
an anxious raven
scans the roofless void.
His haunt is labelled 'ruin' on the map,
which promises the picturesque,
but speaks of order lost to disrepair.
The footsteps of its monks
have long been stilled,
but in the shards of sun-fired scenes,
unleaded lips remain
to sing a compline prayer,
and remind us of the coming night.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
20 April 2024, rev. Aug. 2026
No comments:
Post a Comment