Silver Grey
At the dimming of the day
unfriended by his fire he stands,
a warrior of the wasteland,
body crippled by the elements' cruel hands.
Wind-burnt and swept his hair is silver-grey;
a mix of black and white, and every cast between,
till warrior and wasteland are the same.
His gaze fastens on the landscape
in winter light's slow fade,
lakes and mountains stained that silver shade.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2015
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment