Thursday, 20 August 2009

The Hilltop

The howling wind o'er ragged rock
Tore across the darkened moor
The hardened man of grimmer stock
Watched the ones who came before.

The howling wind cried out in fright
And the man responded in kind
But the howling wind gave up for night
And the man was struck down blind.

The man who fell went down upon the rock
And rested in the blackening mist
The wind fitted its key to the lock
The frightened door made a furtive hiss

The night wasted further away
Upon the grassy slopes
The day then came out to play
The flowers rose out of the ground
And the rose and daisy elopes

The man came to and shook his head
His ragged toussled mane
He wondered where he had made his bed
And what was the secret of his name?

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