Saturday, January 2, 2016

The Ballade of Georgina McPhee.

The Night of Enitharmon's Joy -- William Blake, 1795

Georgina McPhee was a tough act to follow
Her heart all painted in black
There wasn't a meal she could not swallow
Worms nor grubs or bears from Kodiak
Her brother a thoughtless amnesiac
And her father, dead at thirty-three
Poor mother was an ax wielding maniac
Oh where, oh where can she be?

A feisty young lass, full of bravado
Ran alone without friend or pack
Cast ablaze by the moon's pallid glow
Stalking the moors for a stack
Returning home, smelling of sweet lilac
Torn to bits against an old dead tree
Her heart left open to ransack
Oh where, oh where can she be?

Never to know what comes tomorrow
Gazing above at the ancient zodiac
Left rotting with the beasts to wallow
Her forehead split wide, more than a crack
The vileness that swims in the brack
Washing out and drawn to the sea
A meal for the depths ready to attack
Oh where, oh where can she be?

She walked without footsteps to track
A ghost, a shadow, eternally free
Her spirit unbound, not to come back
Oh where, oh where can she be?

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