Richard Cronin Poems

A grand old mansion on a hill
The stately manor stands there still

In the darkness of the night
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In the hot desert wild
On the high chaparral

The desert blooms a sweet flower
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On the shores of night
At the edge of light
The poet weeps for his lost love
The old marble statues stand white
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The poet dealt with the devil
In exchange for his very soul
The devil would give the poet
All the poems his pad could hold
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Spending time alone, afraid
Pondering decisions made
The reaper walks and the sinners, moan
Collecting dues, before the dawn
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