The Red Path, a Narrative: And the Wounded Bird

JohnFreeman February 19, 2020

The Red Path, a Narrative: And the Wounded Bird JohnFreeman Excerpt from The Red Path, a Narrative And the Wounded Bird The Red Path I Lying there, in quite October air, He waited, tired of so long lying thereFor yet unhurrying death and as he waitedThe neighbour waited too, and they both hatedThe thought of that slow Shadow moving on belated Which of them the impatient I know not.But she, being woman, less concealed her thExcerpt from The Red Path, a Narrative And the Wounded Bird The Red Path I Lying there, in quite October air, He waited, tired of so long lying thereFor yet unhurrying death and as he waitedThe neighbour waited too, and they both hatedThe thought of that slow Shadow moving on belated Which of them the impatient I know not.But she, being woman, less concealed her thought.She asked him once, and dared not ask again, Shall I send for your wife but the old man when Your wife he heard, shook his weak head and frownedAnd cast pale angry orbs the room around, Lest his wife should be there.She never came.He died keeping almost to the end the sameSmouldering fury, with quick sparks of rageWhich the neighbour bore with as the whim of age Twas strange, she said, how he turned from his wife and sons Never a word of the boys fine boys though onceThey lived together How he hated his wife A poor thing she terrified out of her lifeIf he swore at her Now lying here he seems

The Red Path, a Narrative: And the Wounded Bird JohnFreeman

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    Published :2020-02-19T12:31:10+00:00