Leon Gellert Poems
There’s a lonely stretch of hillocks:
There’s a beach asleep and drear:
There’s a battered broken fort beside the sea.
There are sunken trampled graves:
And a little rotting pier:
And winding paths that wind unceasingly.
There’s a torn and silent valley:
There’s a tiny rivulet
With some blood upon the stones beside its mouth.
There are lines of buried bones:
There’s an unpaid waiting debt :
There’s a sound of gentle sobbing in the South.
The Jester In The Trench
"That just reminds me of a yarn," he said;
And look for the body of Lofty Lane
He had a thousand yarns inside his head.
They waited for him, ready with their mirth
And creeping smiles, - then suddenly turned pale,