Blood and Moss

Good Friday night, and haunted by the cross The body in the darkness sends the mind To go out searching for him. Blood and moss The crown of thorns around his head defined By lightning striking sudden through the rain - The mind goes down to town, the Market Place The Brittox, St. John's churchyard, Morris Lane No sign of him - the blood and moss - his face He isn't here. He was though. Oh you wish The demon laughs, and disappears behind A dustbin, leaving smells of rotting fish And doubt and disappointment in the mind He's not in Wetherspoons, the angel said Be not afraid, and go back home to bed © Gail Foster 29th March 2024