Peter Russell

(1921-2003 / Bristol)

Night The Eighth - Poem by Peter Russell

I was a happy docile child

One day I don't remember
I walked out on the hills
Heard music of the pipes
By a lake's edge

I live in a palace under the water
There are no sounds, no sights, down here

Everyone has gone away
To a great ball, they say

There are mice here
And I sit on a rush mat…

Poet's Notes about The Poem


Every night for nine nights Manuela appeared to me in a dream, and each night she spoke a poem to me. I had never seen her before and I have no idea who she was. - P.R.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, May 20, 2014

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