SCOTLAND

denmarkmichael@hotmail.com

Walk on a moor

If my soul ran free against the moors,
If my whip-cracked mind could tame this   haunted space.

If all the world in sequinced shroud
that hits not blind, nor taints its spot,
or ailing circles swirling down
that crumble fine and sense the drop.
 

Oh what man could defy the fall of God,
Oh what child who bears his weight
when hungry clouds dispense their wrath.

© All Copyright, 2000, Michael Denmark.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.