HIS NAME NOT HANDED DOWN
The moon in high suspension hung
above the wandering clouds through which
its peering evanescent rays
looked in through windows long begrimed
upon the bed in which she slept
without a fear of shadows.
As early morn began to break
her heart now roused by rising sun
she ventured to an empty room
where muted sounds were feebly heard
and ticking clocks divide the day
she hummed a mournful tune.
Though sleep charmed sorrows from her mind
the day brought judgement darkly known
and reason mocked her transient thoughts
as tracts of logic soon outran
delusions brought by vain conceit
in isolation from the night.
And with her hearts unconscious calling
she sighed a sigh of desperation
as she recalled in measured glides
the man of whom she dreamt all night
a man with whom she never danced
his name not handed down.
Michael Edwards © May 2017