Henry Treece

(22 December 1911 – 10 June 1966 / Wednesbury, Staffordshire)

Poem - II


Death walks through the mind's dark woods,
Beautiful as aconite,
A lily-flower in his pale hand
And eyes like moonstones burning bright.

Love walks down heart's corridors
Singing for a crust of bread
All the tales of laughing youth
Who tomorrow will lie dead.

Here two summer metaphors;
For even on a sun-mad day
Laughter breaks into salt tears,
And grave is never far away.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 21, 2010

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