Eighteen Shots
...on the passing of Dylan Marais Thomas
© David Philip Ireland, All rights reserved
Eighteen shots ring out across the estuary dawn
The white horse runs unbridled ‘cross the sands
The devil fills the night with his moonshine breath
And your precious time runs quickly through the fingers of his hands
Now you’re barefoot in the park
Hiding in the shadows and the doorways
Now you’re helpless in the dark
Lost between the devil and the highway
Take me home to the straggling river
Where the curlews call and the reed beds shiver
As bitter cold as a New York whore
Abandon me to my destiny
On that heron-priested shore
Send me some token that my hope may live
Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest
Send me some honey to make sweet my hive
That in my passions I may hope the best
Send me nor this, send me nor that to ever increase my store
But swear though think’st 'I love thee', and no more
Take me home to the straggling river
Where the oysters sprawl in the salt-bed shimmer
As bitter cold as a New York whore
Abandon me to my destiny
On that heron-priested shore
Eighteen shots ring out across the estuary dawn
The white horse runs unbridled ‘cross the sands
The devil deals the deck with a hand of death
To the funeral march of a Chapel band
Now you’re barefoot in the park
Hiding in the shadows and the doorways
Now you’re helpless in the dark
Lost between the devil and the highway
Take me home to the straggling river
Where the redshanks trawl as the seasons wither
As bitter cold as a New York whore
Abandon me to Eternity
On that heron-priested shore
About the Creator
David Philip Ireland
David Philip Ireland was born in Cheltenham in 1949
David has published work in music, novels and poetry.
To discover David’s back catalogue, visit: linktr.ee/davidirelandmusic
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.