Brian P FitzGerald
Comments about Brian P FitzGerald
Under The Market Cross
A murky mist now grips my brain.
My thoughts, they reel in mire so chilling;
My eyes see nothing but driving rain;
Despair is such, no hope instilling.
In abject grief, on pillar I lean;
Those I knew, now know me not,
I'm now a part of life's unclean,
In lonely squalor I exist and rot.