A Cry Of Poets

"Oh God" said the poets "there's nothing left
'cept man and his temper
'cept us and our grief"

And so with their lives the poets ran
to the hovel of the few
where sluttish ill-groomed scriveners
drew words of every hue

And in this mangy, draggletailed den
our hoard of wordsmiths met
their huddled backs
their punctured hearts
penned dreams when no-one slept.



Angela Norris