~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 3) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~
Soft breeze played, swayed tall trees,
Splayed high branches, rattled leaves.
Upon a path ‘neath broad canopies,
I wove my way to the sea.
Where woodland thinned, where scrub began,
Where grass grew in golden sand,
Here my track trailed away –
Ending in a secluded bay.
A rock-strewn cove, craggy cliffs,
Brackish spray, drifting mist.
The day now grizzled, softly drizzled,
Pockmarked the siliceous shore.
Upon the strand impressed in sand,
Footprints led to where ahead,
The slip and slide of the tide,
Rumbled, tipped and tumbled.
Pausing one moment to contemplate,
I mused the fate of Nevermore.
Somewhere out-there ‘neath ebb and flow,
Lay his heart upon sea floor.
‘Inside a metal box,’ she’d said,
‘Wrought iron, tied and bound.’
‘Weighted-down with heavy stones,’
‘Wherein his heart is found.’
“But where amidst deep briny sea?”
“Where indeed might his heart be?”
“Must I search for eternity,”
“To find his grave beneath the waves?”
As if on cue a Nightingale flew,
Flew twittering across the sea,
Around-and-around ’til settling down,
Upon the ground next to me.
“Far from shore lies Nevermore,”
“Sunk beneath a tolling buoy.”
“Tis tied by thread to the sea-bed -“
“Follow this cable to enable his joy.”
I looked to see what I could see,
But only sea stared back at me.
“How to reach this buoyed bell?”
“If you know please do tell.”
She smiled as only a Nightingale can,
Fluttered feathers, scratched at sand.
Beneath her claw a rope I saw:
Frayed, knotted and rotted.
The lamenting Chat flapped and sat,
Sat high upon my shoulder.
“Within your reach across the beach,”
“Hides a boat behind a boulder.”
Given new hope I lifted the rope,
Pulled it free of wet sand,
Hand-over-hand I coiled the line, ’til
Finding a boat on dry land.
‘Twas secreted away ‘neath tarpaulin,
Part-buried by tumbled stone.
It was intact, in-fact complete,
Dusty, lying prone.
Hauling line I set her free,
Dragged the boat to the sea,
Then casting off I made my way,
Rowing out into the bay.
Upon the bow sat Nightingale,
Guiding me on through the pale:
A veil of fog, a misted wall,
And onwards towards a tolling bell.
~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 2) precedes this post. Part 4 to follow shortly ~