Will Harris

Five Poems

 Horae Solitariae

One lady, I recall, the relict perhaps
of an insolvent rake, would sit and mutter
in a temper out of keeping with her age.
I saw her once, and others of the damned,

take shelter under the same tree from the rain.
So anxious to impress, none said a word
while overhead the invisible voices
of small birds made a melancholy sic transit.





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