(...)

(…)  

They are without number,  
That by the sea now lie  
Forever ensnared in slumber  
That by their own hands did die.  
 
Dark fields ‘neath the lone, ill stars  
I dared alone to tread  
And in the valley of all scars  
I found, self-slain, the dead.  
 
On that strange and moonlit isle,  
I traversed the poison lee,  
Hoping and fearing all the while  
That the dead would welcome me.  
 
Their Plutonian whispers by night.  
If ever I asked God for a sign,  
I would see beyond the celestial light  
That these are friends of mine.  
 
‘Neath time-devoured towers  
We lie, shadows of yesteryears.  
But who shall bring us flowers  
And shed on us their tears?  
 
Say farewell to song. Bid adieu  
But they say when we expire  
And rain from skies of blue  
We shall hear immortal the choir  
And I will sing to you.  
 
© 2021 Marten Hoyle