Plane Tales From the Hills
Look, you have cast out Love! What Gods are these
You bid me please?
The Three in One, the One in Three ? Not so!
To my own Gods I go.
It may be they shall give me greater ease
Than your cold Christ and tangled Trinities.
Lispeth.
When the earth was sick and the skies were grey,
And the woods were rotted with rain,
The Dead Man rode through the autumn day
To visit his love again.
His love she neither saw nor heard,
So heavy was her shame;
And tho’ the babe within her stirred
She knew not that he came.
The Other Man.
Cry “Murder” in the market-place, and each
Will turn upon his neighbour anxious eyes
Asking: “Art thou the man?” We hunted Cain
Some centuries ago across the world.
This bred the fear our own misdeeds maintain
To-day.
His Wedded Wife.
—————
The End
And that’s the End of the Poem
© Poetry Monster, 2021.
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