Eric Ratcliffe

Rookie (Aug 8,1918 / Teddington, England)

Escape Of The Slave Girl - Poem by Eric Ratcliffe

A low arrow, I search the land
for her silver feet moving leaves
as she follows through spiced fields,
runs, or turns to a bird cry.

My father brings an iron whip
to make her lie with Usnach
who will clasp her roughly
in a dark night without singing.

When she feathers her dawn hair
by the eyes of glittering wells,
I will give her holy corn,
my mother's summer gold
and a five-pointed sea-spear
to help her defy them
who steal near young mountains
like shadows of evening panthers.

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Read poems about / on: silver, father, summer, hair, mother, sea, dark, night, girl, running

Poem Submitted: Saturday, June 5, 2004

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