A dragon at the city gate.
A ghost is in the square.
A bell man will not pull the rope
The coffin does not care.
A wishing well that’s almost dry
A ring
wrapped tight in hair
Hearts blood upon Damascus steel
A minstrel wailing there
A damsel sprawled wide on her bed
A whisper in a room
A page lost in the city deeps
A risen crescent moon
A gruff voice raised in anger
A silken tongue drips with glee
A thief cuts purses hopelessly
And a priests wrists blood runs free
A monk lashes himself with whip and chain
A widow is hoarse at prayer
A stallion prances his bladder is full
A dragon does not care.
The city’s prisons are empty
The minstrel’s hair is shorn
The king is in his coffin
The
ghost is bound in thorn
A first star shows above the wall
People’s
parties have begun
A pirate whispers regrets, amidst his coin
Every
hero was undone
The city growls with the crys of the crowd
Holed by piercing wails of fright
Many raucous celebrations sing
And sex is free tonight
A dragon’s eyes are both awake and bright
A ghost puts out his moan
A damsel lies a trembling
A thief says leave well enough alone
A man chants pity, pity, pity me
The moon has reached its zenith
A wind rises up now, suddenly
While the cats all howl nonsense
A riven heart, it can not beat
No queen sits on the throne
The prophets will always speak of scorn
A damsel cries alone
The willow trees are bowed to fate
The wind is growing brisk
The bell man has just opened the gate
A ghost fades in-betwixt
I watch from my window
As the dragon starts to rise
I sign and seal this manuscript
I have no more good-bye’s
Saul Scudder
– December 1995