the Dark Captian’s meal

There are no flowers here
Winter claims this land
Any feast offered
is made of things stored

Any breath
is from the memory of breathing

All the leaves are rust
All your promises are dust

This is a crusty bread
hard and unyielding

Published by

Chyfrin the Celtic poet

Artist, Poet, Electrical/Biomedical Engineer, Actor, Playwright, Set construction, Educator, Lover of womankind and single malt scotch

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