Under the death of winter's leaves he lies
who cried to Nothing and the terrible night
to be his home and bread. 'O take from me
the weight and waterfall ceaseless Time
that batters down my weakness; the knives of light
whose thrust I cannot turn; the cruelty
of human eyes that dare not touch nor pity.'
Under the worn leaves of the winter city
safe in the house of Nothing now he lies.
His white and burning girl, his woman of fire,
creeps to his heart and sets a candle there
to melt away the flesh that hides from bone,
to eat the nerve that tethers him in time.
He will lie warm until the bone is bare
and on a dead dark moon he wakes alone.
It was for Death he took her; death is but this;
and yet he is uneasy under her kiss
and winces from that acid of her desire.
Judith Wright's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Metho Drinker by Judith Wright )
- Sips through lips, Aftab Alam
- The Mature Woman 2, Tex T Sarnie
- Invitation for Re - Opening Ceremony!, sisirachandra vaduge
- Unbarreled Gun, Edwin Cordero
- Thread of thought, Roann Mendriq
- Baking Bread, Roann Mendriq
- Completion, White Lily
- Tears, Michael McParland
- Spin of a coin, Tribhawan Kaul
- Knowing Fragments, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- Heather Burns
(6 January 1878 – 22 July 1967)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)