Caravan
I.
Ghost-wagons roll in the ruts,
Creaking and clattering on,
Passing the villagers’ huts,
Peasants relieved, once they’re gone.
Spirits ten centuries old,
Ghosts of barbarian tribes--
Tribes whose maraudings are told
Shudderingly by old scribes.
II.
Ghost wagons leave with no trace.
Oh, but where is your child?
There he is! But look at his face!
Savage-eyed. Daemonic. Wild.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
