Poetry Archives

Shoulder to shoulder, like dragoons in line,
They stood, and Max knew them to be the ones
To right and left of Kurler’s garden.  Spine
Rigid next frozen spine.  No mellow tones
Of ancient gilded iron, undulate,
Expanding in wide circles and broad curves,
The twisted iron of the garden gate,
Was there.  The houses touched and left no space
Between.  With glassy eyes and shaking nerves
Max gazed.  Then mad with fear, fled still, and left that place.