Poem
Posted: Sat Oct 04, 2008 6:34 pm
Boom Hall
It is the winter
Of an empty voice.
The broken bell
A hanging tongue
From dry stone wall,
The doorway mouth
A silent witness
Of all the years,
It was a place
Of breath, and
In its window
A black crow sings
The song of ageless
Death, far out along
These darkening banks.
Alone and still
The old house rests;
Two hundred winters
By a riverside.
Eamonn McGinty
It is the winter
Of an empty voice.
The broken bell
A hanging tongue
From dry stone wall,
The doorway mouth
A silent witness
Of all the years,
It was a place
Of breath, and
In its window
A black crow sings
The song of ageless
Death, far out along
These darkening banks.
Alone and still
The old house rests;
Two hundred winters
By a riverside.
Eamonn McGinty