The Lykewake Of Morag:
A Poem By Pete Marshall
The crows would circle high above
As death would waken on the ground
A hand would stretch and flick its claws
To trap the prey that swooped on down.
As feathers fell on sodden earth
And float as boats upon the breeze
Bones would crunch and blood would splay
That fed the Scarecrows dark disease.
The haar would creep along the links
As song was heard beyond the hill
The tabor marked the lykewake start
As clans would bow and mourn their still.
Upon the beach the waves would crash
And curse and spit their maddened angst
The mortcloth lay across her soul
As friends would come and offer thanks.
Through wynd and vennel souls would part
As spirits fled the darkened streets
The Scarecrow watched in silent thought
Whilst winds would blow through mans deceit.
And dirks were drawn at Morag’s hame
As Chiefs would curse their spoken vow
Blades would clash and wounds were deep
But one remained to tell this tale…….
This is my poem for One Shot Wednesday, run by One Stop Poetry, a fast growing community for poets & writers of all genres to share their work, express and make friends
Image courtesy creative commons flickr http://www.flickr.com/photos/artbel/