| |
Hickling Broad. Among the reeds
the wind pipes Für Elise, Für Elise,
crossing the water by the boat's prow.
Ruddy and gregarious the pubs glow
and there holidaymakers flee;
then below decks to cramps and silences,
away from the gauze curtain of rain
passing sideways in the night.
No sap in the hollow reeds
attenuates the wind's tune.
Wild duck, moorhen, rising fish
need no companion.
Blows storm a boy's heart,
bent by a prevailing wind.
Ebbing and echoing the wind breathes
Für Elise, Für Elise among the reeds.
Martin TURNER
|
|
User Rating: |
|
10.0
/10
(3 votes) |
|
|
|
Martin TURNER
E-mail this poem to e friend