journal of a writing man

Work in Progress

The multisyllabic results of mist

When errant May sighs heavily,
lays a deep mist veil over the fields
and pauses for effect,
an unsuitable word choice
is inevitable.
 
In this over-historied land
where too many lute-limned melancholies
escape from the castle to float over the marshes
saddening places where no lute belonged
it is hard to remain unheraldic when shadows fall.
 
John Bailey
Somerset, May 7,'02

 


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