Through the Pit's mouth she saw it-
Inert body prostate, lightly lit
the pale face staring up, hollow eyes
the cold waters, the mud, the mice.
Through the pit's mouth, she gaped down
into the very face of death's count-
Her heart thereforth listed afar,
in the soul of the quite traveller.
O Benson Drew! O Miss Drew!
If only she knew-
There pours the tears and anguish
Here escapes insanity and gibberish.
Watch her! watch her! Watch...
Reach out! Catch her! Catch...
But Alas, she drops ten feet below
For the arms of the fallen Moor.
Copyright © Gerald Nforche