Brooding as you sit and watch, a figure of dark stone,

You lean into the water’s rush, and gargle with its roar.

Does not its force against your back nearly tear you from the wall,

Where you crouch and roar your warning, to those spirits of the fall:

“Tread not lightly here, where I do stand this guard,

But take your weak and havoc-wreaking heart,

And back into that pit be gone.

For I stand guard on this wall of stone,

Or desk of varnished wood, and glare and roar,

Both fierce and more, and sing a song of yore.”

So you say, and I doth pray, forever more will be,

For I both cherish and adore, that everlasting roar.

Be Sociable, Share!

• 

This entry was posted on Monday, January 21st, 2008 at 6:16 am and is filed under Verses. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.