The white bleached corpse of day is fast
- reddened, bloodied -
torn to scarlet shreds of evening
slashed by wild and fiery crimsons.
Light leaching and passing westward
from bridge to bridge
garlands of mist drift up the river
Shadows dart, shelter and linger
blackness creeps and claws
the shades of night
Darkness spills down docks and ditches
fingers through the strands of light
by midnight every dock is still
Moon hangs full, naked and weary
slow stiching silver threads
through tall ships rigging
in the dim and dreary night
A yapping dog disturbs the quiet
more insistent than the stars.
© M.L.Emmett
Response to JW Turner's pictures of the River Thames at sunset
