A Poet Complains

Leaves gash the ground with wounds of colour
Where the lonely eagles cry,
Frost binds the earth with straps of iron
And the bright wind shakes the sky;

I've listened to the Faery Folk
And drunk their magic brew,
I've spoken to men and angels
And the dark Satanic crew,

But no-one showed me mercy
By the side of the bitter sea
When Jesus wept and Moses moaned
And they nailed me to the Tree.