In the attic
I picked up a copy of John Drinkwater’s poems last night to remind myself why I used to like him. This is why. And a tribute.
In the attic
In the attic, light falls dim as dusk,
Barred with drifting motes of chaff and husk,
And cobwebs hang from beams where owls would perch
In days when haylofts opened to the sky. I search
[…]
Source: In the attic
Source: Jane Dougherty
