He cloaks himself in darkness


You sat with a face full of thunder
Your voice was sharp as a knife
I asked what I’d done to displease you
To make you so cold with your wife.
The wind’s in the east, you told me
It’s sighing through the sedge
It howls like dead souls on their wanderings
And it sets my teeth on edge.
That night I asked what ailed you
But you turned your face to the wall
The mist from the river’s rising, you said
And I hear the wild geese call.
In the dark of the night I touched you
I wanted to hear you say
That the summer was not yet over
But you pulled your hand away.
The blackbird sang in the blackthorn
The morning you went away
The sun shone bright in the garden
And I did not beg you stay.
For the west wind blew soft on the river
No damp fog obscured the sky
The grey geese had long departed
And I knew that your love was a lie.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

12 thoughts on “He cloaks himself in darkness”

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