That grey grave day
moss moist upon the wall
fog where swam the twisted elm
crunched slow grind
of pebbles underfoot
gate’s cruel scream
Church bells’ false hope
(Perhaps I’m reading too much Brontë.)
Day
11 Thursday Dec 2025
Posted in Poetry
11 Thursday Dec 2025
Posted in Poetry
That grey grave day
moss moist upon the wall
fog where swam the twisted elm
crunched slow grind
of pebbles underfoot
gate’s cruel scream
Church bells’ false hope
(Perhaps I’m reading too much Brontë.)
The Write Idea 
Wow. Fantastic poem. Love the alliteration and onomatopoeia.
Thank you, I enjoy a bit of gothic.
Emily, Charlotte or Anne?😉
Emily and Charlotte, I’m re-reading Jane Ayer at the moment and re-enjoying it.
Just realised I’ve neglected Anne, I’ll start with The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
gate’s cruel scream 👌🏻
😊
I really enjoyed Agnes Grey.
On the list.