Hunched in a corner at odds with the tide
                still the poet weeps
        Luncheon at four but she's barely alive
                still the poet weeps
        Troubled and wasted her heart takes a ride
                so still the poet weeps
    Staked with the roadside she stares out the dive
                still the poet weeps
        Was it her trembling or spirit confessed
                that made the poet weep?
        Seized by his power but so gently blessed
                still the poet weeps
        Light up your candle and send back the waves
                until the poet weeps
        Kindle your spirit awash all your days
                and let the poet sleep
 
 

Terry Bowden
COPYRIGHT 1985