Martin Akenshaw
Heavy the scent of elder in the air
As on the night he went: the starry bloom
He'd brushed in passing dusted face and hair,
And the hot fragrance filled the little room.
Heavy the scent of elder—in the night
Where I lie lone abed with stifling breath
And eyes that dread to see the morning light,
The heavy fume of elder smells of death.
As on the night he went: the starry bloom
He'd brushed in passing dusted face and hair,
And the hot fragrance filled the little room.
Heavy the scent of elder—in the night
Where I lie lone abed with stifling breath
And eyes that dread to see the morning light,
The heavy fume of elder smells of death.
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