The Witch Muse (Homage To Eric Clapton 2) Poem by Michael Buhagiar

He glanced at the first bright sliver to glow
Which many would harvest and worship alone,
And yawned, thinking only of how she would grow
To the diva as Woman entrancing the throne.

He would watch her crowned, her husband-tide
Now brimming, now void, and the kingdom thriving;
The infant Prince on her lap spread wide:
While still the Acts through not wholly believing.

The backdropp of black is their shadow play.
Now the Queen is dead; there creeps from the shadows
A hag, black-cowled, to claim centre stage
With a wail as if suns at the death of day
Were fuelling in her ribs a lyric of crows.
He gazed till the stage went out into umbrage.