The Coming of the Dawn
I think that I shall be leaving now.
I bid you all adieu.
A midnight frown is on the brow
of each and all of you.
The weary night invites me down
the path from whence I grew
and drapes me in his dressing gown
and hides me from view.
I must wander through the farouche town,
through the night and through the morn.
For there are those that must be shown
and that which must be borne.
Distantly, the howling hounds,
the heralds of my scorn,
have turned their heels upon the track
for the coming of the dawn.
I see the watch is fully wound
to speed the second too.
The night ghasts have done their round
and fecund fields made blue.
The crooked wheel by which I’m bound
has turned itself anew
and hooked itself into the ground,
a penitent at his pew.
I must blunder on this ragged route,
down amongst the thorn,
muddying my mourning suit,
doubtful and forlorn.
Still, the dogs are rounding,
their dread dentitions drawn;
have turned their heels upon the track
for the coming of the dawn.
The halting hour has sounded,
tremulous and true,
signalling to all the town
those who must need pursue.
The dresses which were flaunted
have lost their golden hue
and their wearers who once sauntered
have done what they would do.
I must find her on outward paths,
unwelcoming and worn;
the black knight vanquished,
the white queen takes her pawn.
The rabids have abounded
with a yelp and with a yawn,
and turned their heels upon the track
for the coming of the dawn.
The wedding veil is broken,
broken into two.
The measures you have dealt out
will be dealt out back to you:
a white cockroach in a red room
mouthing what is due
where the laughing gates have opened
for another retinue.
I must venture ever down
to where the river’s torn;
where the past is unfounded
and the future unborn;
where the hyenas have sounded
an awful mocking warn
to turn your heels upon the track
for the coming of the dawn.
