Round my
old house tall poplars crane
Round my old house tall poplars crane
‘my love, my love - where are you now’
a narrow lane
of wet leaves, and the fall to come.
And on and on the dull refrain
‘my love, my love - where are you now’
of rain on rain
past grieving, and the wind is dumb.
The house is hollow, dark and bleak
‘my love, my love - where are you now’
with whispered creaks
of attic beams that will not cease.
Inside sits someone hunched and lined
‘my love, my love - where are you now’
whose eyes are blind
whose mind finds neither rest nor peace.
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