Poetry for Strangers: Lovingly

three lapsed saints stood by the road
each had green eyes

the red bird sang on the branch
steel spears shook by the black hill

church ale boils in the mouth
grass sways in the gray wind

dark fell over the closed throne
what is here is time lost

what is lost is to be here
and is lovingly killed

the search is a bright pain
the search has no end

For more, go to Poetry for Strangers: Lovingly

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