Posts Tagged ‘white’

(a Mayberrie poem)


Her shawl gleamed brightly

in the sun.

She wrapped it tightly

in the cold of silent villagers

and climbed across the pile of stones,

breathing in the salt

of dried seaweed on the sand.

Looking out across the bay

she saw the cliffs of Mayberrie

and farther still, his castle.

(Was he pacing every hallway

or would he get some rest?)

Nothing stirred

except for something light

that flashed atop the tower –

no doubt just a gull.


The bandages around his head

gleamed brightly

as he took his leave

from rites and duty

fleeing court for solitude.

Up the spiral staircase

to the tower’s top he climbed,

and there he gazed

upon the sea,

and fishermen at peace.

Turning, he could see across the bay

to where her village rested,

tucked above the rocks.

Was she there or had she fled?

The beach was still

except for something light

that moved

along the shore.

No doubt just a gull.


© 2012, 2016 Betty Hayes Albright


(For a list of all poems in this series, please click on the Mayberrie tab above.)

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