The Wait
The sun has long receded from the sky,
Pallid gloom invades the wintry air,
Morbid silence hangs over,
Memory sleeps like hibernating toads.
The trees stand bare with no leaves to array,
The Earth lies shielded in its icy crust,
There is stillness, the stillness of the grave,
Breaking it, a fox is heard howling afar.
Solitary lies he, in his battered shack,
With a run out lantern throwing pale light,
It burns sending spouts of fume,
Like the last breath of the dying soul.
He listens intently for advancing steps,
Of a long awaited friend, sure to come,
To deliver him of his baneful state,
To row him away across the frozen seas
Copyright © Valsa George | Year Posted 2022
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