Eponymous

Pastorale

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The devil squirms, the angel mocks

Their cruel sniggers prise her face about

While she squats athwart the thunderbox.

 

Upon the desiccated dust heap cocks

Strut the light fantastic. Black as stout

The devil squirms, the angel mocks.

 

A wrinkled, lissom postman knocks

Now her bolt is shot. The rustling spout

While she squats athwart the thunderbox

 

Is stopcocked fast. The blowsy phlox,

The tuberose, flaunt and pout.

The devil squirms, the angel mocks.

 

A parcel’s planted by the hollyhocks.

No time to purl the skeins of doubt

While she squats athwart the thunderbox.

 

Yet doubt’s dispelled, so too the thrilling shocks

Of shame and godlessness. So long devout,

The devil squirms, the angel mocks

While she squats athwart the thunderbox.

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Eponymous, better known as timdracup.com, contains long-form posts drafted by a real human being. Everything is free to read. I specialise in Dracup family history, British walking trails and literary book reviews. But you’ll also find writing about music, bereavement and much else besides.

Eponymous

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