Swing High Swing Low Poem by Sally Plumb Plumb

When the vivid red of satan
leaves my shrinking veins,
then a stratus lays before
and from deep, deep wells of pain
oceans of tears have eyes to cry.
Ever falling blackness.
Bottomless, silent pools
that reflect nothing.

Lift me, black angel,
carry me high,
let me touch scarlet clouds
and dance in the sky.

Can I walk with the sun?
Can I run with the moon?
I beg you dark angel,
carry me soon.


Sally Plumb