~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 10) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~
Fingers of light scything bright,
Cool mist upon the sea,
A golden glaze through wispy haze,
Reached-out to welcome me.
Stroke by stroke I made my way,
Slowly, slowly towards the bay,
In my wake undulating grey,
Fumed at my trespass.
Soft sand at last between my toes,
Firm ground, a rocky shore.
Upon the beach I sat me down,
To one side laid Nevermore.
A way away a tolling buoy,
Feint echo of a bell,
Faded, fading, evaporating,
Fell silent in briny swell.
Tired, overcome, exhausted, undone,
Sore eyes saw nothing more.
Sprawled on sand, safe on land,
Soon asleep upon the shore.
For an age I slept in warming sun,
Adrift in curious dreams:
Untethered, untied, like a boat afloat,
Or a mote borne on jet-streams.
I awoke ‘neath a cloak of shimmering stars,
Glinting on brocade and crewel,
Each shone bright with crystallised light,
Each was a glistening jewel.
Moths and Loons hailed the Moon:
Selene a hoary orb,
The bay alive with silvered life,
In her light were absorbed.
One large Moth black as night,
Spiralled down in my sight,
It came to land on-top of rocks,
Close beside the metal box.
I saw it settle, raise dark wings,
Lift its head, heard it sing,
It called to others close nearby,
A quiet lament for one who’d died.
Before my eyes, to my surprise,
Through an eclipse of flutter-by’s,
Darkness shifted, a shadow drifted,
A hooded figure stood tall.
Tall and slight, dark as night,
No robes or clothes around him:
Instead four-bags tied with string,
Were tightly bound to wooden limbs.
In his hand perched Nightingale,
Sat silent without lament,
Both he and she gazed longingly,
Knowing of the box’s content.
Removing his hat the Scarecrow sat,
Sat crossed-legged upon dry sand,
Swift and true Nightingale flew,
Flew to land on my hand.
~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 9) precedes this post. Part 11 to follow shortly ~