Will-o’-the-wisp


With the tail end of twilight, descent by chance

Down into my valley, I notice your steps

You a traveler footsore with your hem in the dust

 Seeking safe rest, in grass dry or lush

At the base of the slope, under the apple tree

You lay down your pack and drop to your knees

And from within my marsh I dart and I drift

In watching you, stranger, with keen interest

The first to pass through in a seeming age

A bell on your belt, and your cloak an array

Of patches and colours that speak of far places

Of roads well-worn and of roads that wait Continue reading “Will-o’-the-wisp”