Sunday, November 4, 2012

The Long Hill



They are on their way.

Having left a quarter-hour ago,
they are on their way.

Up, up, up the long hill

bearing black roses,
a dozen black roses.

They are on their way,
into the gathering grim,
bearing a dozen black roses.

Smirking stars manifest,
animal eyes squint.

Up, up, up the long hill.

They are on their way.