Moving among the moon-drained hills Remembering the dead, Lover to ghostly lover cried: 'Whenever I see a sweet man's body 5 Great pain within me dies. 'Enough of such rough comforting Drives out much suffering, Clapped in a ruinous grave,' Cried that distracted woman 10 Under a rude, red moon. 'All night having grown unnatural We drop to the distended ground And there beneath a man-shaped tree Sick with sweet labor of sighs 15 I cradle nothing between my thighs.'
From the collection "Burning Byzantium"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.