Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Red Lion Inn, Dunchurch, November 5th 1605.

It grows late
and grey -
remnants of day.
Shadows, like memories,
flit in dustwebbed corners,
wedging secrets,
and night’s insects;
urging moths
to sacrifice their wings
in candleflame –

Hope burns and drops,
sets quickly in the wax,
then dies amongst the crumbs
on ale stained
table tops.


No comments: