~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 11) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~
For an hour or more upon seashore,
Huddled near haggard rocks,
Beneath full bloom of a silvery Moon,
Beholding the metal box.
Nevermore hadn’t moved,
Nor had he said a word,
Lips tight-stitched, gaze transfixed,
As was the lyrical bird.
He looked at peace but underneath,
I knew he was perturbed.
Inside he fumed, his thoughts consumed,
By all that had occurred.
In rage-wet eyes bitterness lingered,
In balled fists anger hungered,
Long lost years spilt as tears:
Damp tracts on hessian sack.
At length he turned, looked at me,
His face devoid of misery,
In its stead a smile had spread,
Spread glinting in his eyes.
He bowed his head in gratitude,
Removed his gunny hood,
“One thing more I ask of you,”
Then slowly rose and stood.
Between his robes of plastic clothes,
He reached a woody hand.
A short crowbar with chamfered tip,
Was placed upon the sand.
“Please,” he said, “prise the box,”
“I have no strength to do it.”
“Slowly, slowly if you please,”
“My heart, do not tear it.”
And so it was I set about,
My task an assiduous affair:
Gently probing ‘tween seams corroding,
Jamming the jemmy with care.
Minutes passed when then at last,
Box and lid separated.
Although enclosed was not exposed,
Twas a moment long awaited.
The silent Chat sat no more,
Fluttered feathers and to the floor,
Flew to view what lay in store,
Inside the metal box.
Eager, excited, indeed delighted,
Unburdened of her pity,
She cooed to embolden Nevermore,
Trilled an enchanting ditty.
He adoring gazed down at her,
She gazed up at him,
Then carefully he raised the lid,
To see what lay within.
A bundle bound in oilskin rag,
Wrapped inside a mort-cloth bag,
Lay betwixt two rustic roods,
In an open box of wood.
When then a sound from all around,
As if a quiet humming,
Feint at first, grew and grew,
Became a thunderous drumming!
~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 10) precedes this post. Part 12 to follow shortly ~