The Day of Souls (Part I)
Comes the cold October dawn
the day of souls begins
Cold the ground the gifts
the hills are hidden in the mists
Pale sun arises blowing hot
the embers of the night before
the day of souls is veiled
in its sullen darkened damp
When suddenly
someone lights the lamp
It stretches with a shock
from east to west
the splendid light casts
a host of sundogs
shining leaps the sky
their shadows miles long
the cry of light begins
a burning upward tower
of incandescent light
nods its head miles high
prolifigate in power
light sweeps the hills
and warms the glens
and then the wind begins
to reap the trees
like stalks of wheat
the dark angel smiles
and folds his wings
Copyright 09/17/98 Unpublished Works William M. Shannon