© roy ballard 2012


Let's brighten England
Scots wha hae
purloined from me
an hour a day of light;  I say
let them be free
to go their way,
the clock set right
and Summer Time recovered be.

Epitaph for a lover
Bony fingers intertwine,
lonely fingers: all are mine.
In this grave my bare skull lies
seeing you with wanting eyes;
smelling all the scents you wore
though I wear a nose no more;
sighing, though I have no lungs
for another touch of tongues.
Bones recall the wanton time,
lying on you in their prime
with the coming waves, deep-sea,
washing over you and me,
finally to crash on shore,
now unmoving evermore