Mont Morin

HEAR THE SHARPENING O'THA KNIFE
FER SOULS I HARVEST NOW
FAR BEYOND THE FISHING QUAY 
WHERE AWAITS ME MONT MORIN

AFORE A CORNISH DAWN
AFORE A CORNISH DAWN YOU ASK
FER HERE I'M BORN AN BRED
AND COME BACK I MUST
EVEN THOU I'M DEAD

THE PAINTED SIGN'S A CLINKING
OUR PARSON HE'S A THINKING
RIDE UPON MY CART OLD DEAR
TIS A FUNERAL IF YER PLEASE

HEAR THE PUPS A SQUEAKING
IN THIS BOX O' DREAMS
NUMBERS RUNES OLD MANS TUNES
HEAR THE SHARPENING O'THA KNIFE!
Copyright © | Year Posted 2013

Poem

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Agustin Avatar
September 28, 2025 at 12:37 AM
Thanks for sharing this... exposing your thoughts through your unique poetic style. Meanwhile, I greet you with the love of the Lord, expressed by John 3:16 of the Bible, "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Be blessed.
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