The Way of the Cyprus
The cyprus looming, darkly green,
In ranks assembled, tall and lean,
In witness to the water’s sheen,
The waterfall a screen.
The reeds as silent as the moon,
The solemn sphyxes sadly swoon,
Like sentinels the nightjars croon,
Their enigmatic tune.
The clouds in portent so austere,
In lightless heavens wreaking fear,
The statues standing lonely peer,
Through nightshades glancing queer.
The meditations of the dead,
Within the graves and gardens spread,
Entombed within the sodden bed,
Their spirits speaking dread.
The sky is blackened o’er the trees,
With hope departing on the breeze,
The clamour of accursed pleas,
To stay the hellish freeze.
The sphynxes prone, in mournful keep,
Presiding as the spirits weep,
The softly flapping fishes leap,
As night winds gently creep.
adamdaniel 