I Poemed My Story


Where Did They Go?

In the Moor there is a door;

            Tall tree stump stood of ancient wood;

            The hillside all around it speaks,

            The wind sings and calls and creaks;

            The breeze that draws all Moordyms home,

            To castle, Moor and earthen dome;


            Beware new child- it will sing to you,

            Tell you of vapors, mists and dew;

            Of grasses that wave in a curvaceous flood,

            And passions exact in the Moordym blood;

            Come home and sleep on an herb-filled bed,

            Blue night shines Moor stars overhead;


            And you will understand,

            Lured by clouds dropped near to hand;

            Call of scent and fog and bush,

            Secrets deep in the morning hush;

            Wander on fields destiny kissed,       

            To disappear like a Moordym mist.




  1. sherijkennedyriverside · November 26, 2016

    Oooo…very Tolkienesque


  2. Ellen · November 28, 2016

    You have a way with words…


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