A Poet Complains
Leaves gash the ground with wounds of colour
Where the lonely eagles cry,
Frost binds the earth with straps of iron
And the bright wind shakes the sky;
I've listened to the Faery Folk
And drunk their magic brew,
I've spoken to men and angels
And the dark Satanic crew,
But no-one showed me mercy
By the side of the bitter sea
When Jesus wept and Moses moaned
And they nailed me to the Tree.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Added by Poetry Lover
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