Neil Young

Rookie - 422 Points (b.1970 / England)

Bones - Poem by Neil Young

Sat in the undercroft of St. Leonard’s
She takes money, like Charon, in her thin
Bony hand. Her table proffers postcards;
Sepia reproductions affirm in
Here all we see; shelves, alcoves lined with bone.
Whose faces once dressed these skulls? Whose sockets
Held eyes that watched, as mine study now, hone
In on these earth-worn, mediaeval remnants.

Further in, humorous and femur stacked
Head high, gather dust like a dry stone wall.
Random skulls, pleading, peer out over cracked
Lower jaws, displayed among other small
Fragments. We do not touch, return instead;
Charon our guide through this aisle of the dead.


Comments about Bones by Neil Young

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Poem Edited: Thursday, August 11, 2011


[Report Error]