The Outcast Dead

In the dark of night, upon a haunted gorge they rise.
Magpies serenade deep echo’s in aeolian shrieking shrills.
Under the great oak tree, a figure stands in the shadows,
a black cloak, boldly humming sonnets to the lost or lonely,
Her breath cooled by crispy mists.
Pouting misty tendrils dance; clouds blow long feted kisses;
Coyotes chant to a full moon their calls cut like the blade.
Vibrations shifting all about, nearby Kitty Jay’s old grave
shunned by the man she loved the server girl took her own 
life in the muddy cañon hollows.
Sun chases wandering spirits; disappearing in the light of day.
Serenade songs of virtue, in swale dance the dew faeries.
And magpies shall soon return with a shrill just after 
twilight to roost in the great tree above 
the hidden grave of Kitty Jay.
Fresh flowers appear there nightly rest-not the outcast dead 
of Dartmoor National Park.

betrayalbirddeathfairygravefree verse

♡Like0

Poem

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.