BY MARK BLAIR
Copyright is held by the author.
i visited our patch of ground
our clearing in the glen
and centre of its corners four
a table set and spread
in hope i sank in one of the
empty waiting chairs
pangs of thirst and hunger bite …
… ing, gnawing my entrails
but doughnuts only laid about
cho-co-late and glazed
nothing but their centres and
empty jars of ales
a quiet Silence did me there
wordlessly attend
and Loneliness forlornly sat
at the other end
so aching was that fragile air
reigning o’er the place
(like dew of sad Melancholy’s
tearful weeping face)
i cried