The Ghouls Poem by Elizabeth Jane Coatsworth
The Ghouls
All day the long cold fingers of the rain
Have pried at the gray tiles above the graves,
Finishing the work of years in the drear fields
Where coffins lie uncovered in the light
Of sulphurous mustard blooms. Here by the bank
The greedy water has uncovered bones
Shining, blue-white, wet in the biting wind.
Wednesday, September 7, 2016
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4/26/2024 5:38:26 PM # 1.0.0.1119
