Lucifer slept on the journey south,
But only once –
For in the morning he had to decide
Whether, having crossed the river,
And said goodbye to the moon,
When no more dogs were barking
Nor hut smoke could be seen
Nor any voices heard,
Whether to take the left
Or right arm of the road.
It was best not to stop
Not think of warmth
But lunge without thought to left or right.
Either that, or broach the centre –
A wilderness of granite green
In which one lived as long
And learned far more
Than after the exhaustion of a quick decision,
Or the utter ruin of a right one.
To read the previous Poem of the Week, "Portrait Painter" by Dick Davis, click here.
To read "The Rats", here