How Oswald Dined With God
Over Northumbria's lone, gray lands,
Over the frozen marl,
Went flying the fogs from the fens and sands,
And the wind with a wolfish snarl.
Frosty and stiff by the gray York wall
Stood the rusty grass and the yarrow:
Gone wings and songs to the southland, all-
Robin and starling and sparrow.
Weary with weaving the battle-woof,
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: narrative