Friday, 13 November 2015



That long ago Friday of Easter 1973,
We ascended the summit in white;
Reaching out, to purify and be free
Of all malice, and of all spite.

Yet our adversary came not
At the agreed and allotted hour.
Had the boastful one forgot?
— Or had he begun to cower?

They say he feared the song
And dance the assembled throng
Might make should they see
Our demon-possessed adversary.

But he came nowhere near;
Preferring to freeze;
Whilst candles and incense
Wafted in the breeze.

In his absence our words
Of ancient exorcism filled
The moonlit air like swords,
— Until the gloom was stilled.

No comments:

Post a Comment