Quietus

Where the brook runs to rust
and the torched charabancs lord the whear
my shadow lengthens

And in the lanes and pits
of the parched city in the night’s mid-night
my mood will quicken

And though not lost
my tongue will thicken for wine and wit
so long since tasted

The songs and slurs of cats
will jinx the air as I walk the limit
my third wish wasted

Roddy Lumsden

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