The Pretty Things

The Pretty Things

from 25.00

Mounted oilgraph // 11” x 16”

"The song from the bells
took the wind from their wings

The starlings bearing message
nestled then in branches of
the winter elms
high above the battle field
that now lay at rest
baked with the dead

And too few were left
to leave a winner

What was left drew up their swords
to fade into the loss of trees
and forget their names

A monk rings the bells
and sings a hymn
for the dreamers to awake

but all fall
into sleep today
and far away
a young widow
newly made
holds the pretty things
The promise of a locket
listens to a distant hymn

and waits for a message from the skies"

Early work.

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