NIGHT VISITOR
A black coach passed my house last night
Beneath a Winter moon,
It paused awhile before my door
As though my time were soon.
A black coach passed my house last night
Drawn by two coal-black steeds,
Its driver was a snow white maid
Decked out in widow's weeds.
It paused awhile before my door
As I watched from my bed,
A cold wind stirred the coal-black plumes
That crowned each horse's head.
I shivered though my bed was warm,
My windows fastened tight,
I shivered for I knew I'd felt
The touch of death last night.
The driver turned her face my way
And slowly bowed her head,
A silent message meant to say
That I would soon be dead.
She raised her head and met my gaze
As cold as Winter snow,
Then gently took the horses' reins
And signaled them to go.

The carriage ambled on a pace
Then vanished in the night,
But I still saw her stone cold stare
And deathly skin so white.

A black coach passed my house last night
Then went upon its way,
It paused awhile before my door
But hadn't come to stay.

It might not have been there at all,
It might have been a dream,
Or had death's herald paid a call
Deep in a stray moonbeam?

Tonight I'll lay me down to sleep
But sleep will never come,
I'll wait the carriage in the street
That's come to drive me home.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

On Monday, November 27, 2023 at 8:15:13 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> NIGHT VISITOR
>
> A black coach passed my house last night
> Beneath a Winter moon,
> It paused awhile before my door
> As though my time were soon.
>
> A black coach passed my house last night
> Drawn by two coal-black steeds,
> Its driver was a snow white maid
> Decked out in widow's weeds.
>
> It paused awhile before my door
> As I watched from my bed,
> A cold wind stirred the coal-black plumes
> That crowned each horse's head.
>
> I shivered though my bed was warm,
> My windows fastened tight,
> I shivered for I knew I'd felt
> The touch of death last night.
>
> The driver turned her face my way
> And slowly bowed her head,
> A silent message meant to say
> That I would soon be dead.
>
> She raised her head and met my gaze
> As cold as Winter snow,
> Then gently took the horses' reins
> And signaled them to go.
>
> The carriage ambled on a pace
> Then vanished in the night,
> But I still saw her stone cold stare
> And deathly skin so white.
>
> A black coach passed my house last night
> Then went upon its way,
> It paused awhile before my door
> But hadn't come to stay.
>
> It might not have been there at all,
> It might have been a dream,
> Or had death's herald paid a call
> Deep in a stray moonbeam?
>
> Tonight I'll lay me down to sleep
> But sleep will never come,
> I'll wait the carriage in the street
> That's come to drive me home.
>
> -- Michael Pendragon
>
> *****
>

On Tuesday, November 28, 2023 at 9:53:32 AM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Monday, November 27, 2023 at 8:15:13 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > NIGHT VISITOR
> >
> > A black coach passed my house last night
> > Beneath a Winter moon,
> > It paused awhile before my door
> > As though my time were soon.
> >
> > A black coach passed my house last night
> > Drawn by two coal-black steeds,
> > Its driver was a snow white maid
> > Decked out in widow's weeds.
> >
> > It paused awhile before my door
> > As I watched from my bed,
> > A cold wind stirred the coal-black plumes
> > That crowned each horse's head.
> >
> > I shivered though my bed was warm,
> > My windows fastened tight,
> > I shivered for I knew I'd felt
> > The touch of death last night.
> >
> > The driver turned her face my way
> > And slowly bowed her head,
> > A silent message meant to say
> > That I would soon be dead.
> >
> > She raised her head and met my gaze
> > As cold as Winter snow,
> > Then gently took the horses' reins
> > And signaled them to go.
> >
> > The carriage ambled on a pace
> > Then vanished in the night,
> > But I still saw her stone cold stare
> > And deathly skin so white.
> >
> > A black coach passed my house last night
> > Then went upon its way,
> > It paused awhile before my door
> > But hadn't come to stay.
> >
> > It might not have been there at all,
> > It might have been a dream,
> > Or had death's herald paid a call
> > Deep in a stray moonbeam?
> >
> > Tonight I'll lay me down to sleep
> > But sleep will never come,
> > I'll wait the carriage in the street
> > That's come to drive me home.
> >
> > -- Michael Pendragon
> >
> > *****
> >
>

WINTER'S HERE

Winter's here with frigid blasts of wind that cut me to the bone
And though Thanksgiving's barely past, has burrowed in with
thick icycle claws;
Winter crept on coyote paws with ancient eyes as cold as
Stone
And buried Autumn deep in snow -- a starling clutched
between her steel-trap jaws.

-- Michael Pendragon

*****

On Thursday, November 30, 2023 at 12:11:11 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> WINTER'S HERE
>
> Winter's here with frigid blasts of wind that cut me to the bone
> And though Thanksgiving's barely past, has burrowed in with
> thick icycle claws;
> Winter crept on coyote paws with ancient eyes as cold as
> Stone
> And buried Autumn deep in snow -- a starling clutched
> between her steel-trap jaws.
>
> -- Michael Pendragon
>
> *****
>

Melancholy
by NancyGene

Not one thing was really amiss.
The pies were a pumpkin bliss,
The turkey was done,
The stuffing was won-
derful, yet after the guests left
I felt disquieted, bereft.

My face already has grown old,
The dining room is dark, cold.
My body’s gone slack.
My mind wanders back
To tarry in another place,
Once again to see and embrace

All the loved ones who are now gone,
Fix all that had veered so wrong.
But some days were great,
The banquets of fate.
I hear the twelve impassive chimes,
A message from blunt Father Time

That next year may not come for me.
I could live a month or three.
The table is set,
I must not forget,
This earthly life that is still mine
Was born to end, but first to dine.

On Thursday, November 30, 2023 at 8:52:03 PM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> Melancholy
> by NancyGene
>
> Not one thing was really amiss.
> The pies were a pumpkin bliss,
> The turkey was done,
> The stuffing was won-
> derful, yet after the guests left
> I felt disquieted, bereft.
>
> My face already has grown old,
> The dining room is dark, cold.
> My body’s gone slack.
> My mind wanders back
> To tarry in another place,
> Once again to see and embrace
>
> All the loved ones who are now gone,
> Fix all that had veered so wrong.
> But some days were great,
> The banquets of fate.
> I hear the twelve impassive chimes,
> A message from blunt Father Time
>
> That next year may not come for me.
> I could live a month or three.
> The table is set,
> I must not forget,
> This earthly life that is still mine
> Was born to end, but first to dine.
>

On Friday, December 1, 2023 at 1:46:54 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Thursday, November 30, 2023 at 8:52:03 PM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > Melancholy
> > by NancyGene
> >
> > Not one thing was really amiss.
> > The pies were a pumpkin bliss,
> > The turkey was done,
> > The stuffing was won-
> > derful, yet after the guests left
> > I felt disquieted, bereft.
> >
> > My face already has grown old,
> > The dining room is dark, cold.
> > My body’s gone slack.
> > My mind wanders back
> > To tarry in another place,
> > Once again to see and embrace
> >
> > All the loved ones who are now gone,
> > Fix all that had veered so wrong.
> > But some days were great,
> > The banquets of fate.
> > I hear the twelve impassive chimes,
> > A message from blunt Father Time
> >
> > That next year may not come for me.
> > I could live a month or three.
> > The table is set,
> > I must not forget,
> > This earthly life that is still mine
> > Was born to end, but first to dine.
> >
>