Powell To The People ... From Prose To Verse

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BEHIND THIS CHURCH

WITH THE IRON FENCE

The earth, freed from

the duties of hospitality,

rushed into a wild thicket

where no one ventured,

brambles and weeds grew

shoulder high here

and allowed no path.

Nightshade clung

to locust trees,

vines swung 

from tree to tree

forbidding the sun

or wind to grace

the matted floor.

The sickening fragrance

of wet honeysuckle,

cherry blossoms

and wild lilacs

reached out from here

in spring to the passersby.

Unseen quail called out 

after rains, the sound

of a hidden waterfall

could be heard 

plunging over rocks  

as if some dark gaiety

went on here that would not

be imprisoned in 

tomb or earth.

Dawn Powell 

The Story of a Country Boy
(1934)

POWELL TO THE PEOPLE
continues  here.  

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