Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2020
I stand in the dilapidated chapel.
Paint peeling from the walls like the bark
of a silver birch.
Dull light cascades in from high archways.
I now approach the manor, in through
the kissing gate kissed with moss and dew.
A ****** of crows battle across the  battlements in still air.
Written by
Liz  London
Please log in to view and add comments on poems