robert felstead Poems

The earth will shake, the sky fall down
The mountains all crumble to the ground
The sea's dry up, the deserts flood
The forest burns, grass turns to mud
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Men with many shovels and picks
Attack the ground hard and quick
They dig the hole to get to the stones
The ground is old and buried are bones
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New moon full and high above
Sitting gazing at it with my love
Holding hands on a winters night
All the stars look such a sight
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River flows with poise and grace
Never in a rush, never in haste
Slowly travelling in a gentle ride
But sometimes rough from side to side
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Is my temper controlled by the moon?
It inflates and withers like a balloon
Fiery outburst from deep within
Trying to control it, where do i begin?
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On winged grey horses chaos arrives
In a black despairing soul the devil drives
Drives a wedge between good and bad
Banishes goodness to make us sad
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