Brian P FitzGerald
Brian P FitzGerald Poems
- The Church My heart is held in icy grip A biting wind now ...
- Ermine The Earwig Is Shocked speaking of shocking things as ...
- Morning Prayer The freezing draught deeply bites; A ...
- Under The Market Cross A murky mist now grips my brain. My ...
- On The Death Of Petal - 10 Jul... So what is memory? Why ...
- On Bempton Cliffs I hear the waves below the cliffs, I ...
- St Helen And The Ghosts Of Kil... 1831 At my desk I sit ...
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Comments about Brian P FitzGerald
My heart is held in icy grip
A biting wind now takes my breath
Along the path I struggle and slip
Before me dance the wraiths of death.
So bleak the church ahead I knew,
Grey and spectral in ghastly glow.
The tumbled tombs and gnarled yew
And drunken headstones covered in snow
The lych gate beckons with moonlit chill;
A frosty welcome offers me.
An ashen light from shuttered grill
What solace there can find for me?
Along the frosty path I tread
In wretched pain and hapless grief.
The door creeks open, with deathly dread
I step inside,...