Running To Glendalough

(A collaboration by Angela E Kumpolt and Emrys Bard)

​

"Well?" He says, stroking his chin, like a wizened old sage.
With maybe a hint of onion and forcemeat stuffing.
And with bated garlic breath she breathes;
Heaves a sigh, as nigh the twilight thickens,
Unto night. "Not now" she whispers.
As she scrambles about, in search of the onion bhajis.
Beats, the frantic feral follies of her heart;
Keeping pace with the fog wrapped wraiths;
In the forest gloom. That warily,
lurks outside the door to her room.
She's outside, as in the purple distance
One lighted window glows, together,

they plunge through uncharted snow. She 
Grips tightly to thoughts of turbid shivers. 
As frozen against the moon's glow,
she seeks the answer. 
"Is this the way to Glendalough?"

​