Poetry

John Whitworth: Five Poems

Going for a Burton I hear you sighing through the curtain. I see you singing on the stair. I know most nights I’m in your sights. I feel it when I douse the lights. I feel it everywhere. Now here, now there, without a care, Your silver skin, your golden hair, So young, so yare, when I am old, So winsome warm when I am cold. Fountain of wisdom, son of Art, Physician to the broken heart, My brave beginning and my end, My life, my lover and my friend, Attar of roses in your breath, Come gentle, unrelenting Death,…

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