The Web Poetry Corner - M A Heathcote - Boothsmere, the lady of the lake
Boothsmere, the lady of the lake
M A Heathcote
Over the crescent wall of Boothsmere, lake
Fulsome, morning rises from sleep to wake.
With a Eucharist ringing" of holy bells!
Soulless grey, unmoving, icy-waters
Saturate with deaths chained, daughters.
Holds firm; itís eerie, smoggy, smells!
Its haunted waters still give rise
To moonlit secrets of surprise
That ghostly chomp at waterís edge
Thatís when the lady of the lake
She; rises from sleep to wake.
From bulrushes and blankets of sedge
Where others in spirit have sort to fly
The distant milk herds bellowing cry.