Mothlite Neverbegoodwood
Fathoming the gulf between us
Whose brambled banks bleed us dry
And its weathered hollowed mouth
Groans toward the auroral even-light
The mist strokes the hair
Of its rippling creeper-life
Hemlock murmurs under the fall
Of vermilion leaves
Some of us shivering
Some of us still off baited hook
Hang blistered tongues
From the bone-lit canopy
Of Neverbegoodwood
When the winter comes
And heather belles ring for us
One last look at the giant leaves
One last breath before the gloom
