The Trophy

Enwrought around a cup this rustic scene

unfolds: a fisherman there plies his wire

for hearth and bread – nearby, two fox desire

to feast on baskets rich with harvest glean,

and furtive eye the barn with movements keen;

two pale youths nearby stand with hearts on fire,

friends vying for the woman both admire -

her figure full as autumn, face serene.

The cup itself is coveted by swains -

a trophy won with songs in idle time -

not food nor love, but praise might be their prize -

undying hungers in creation's chains;

seized out of time, no final bells will chime

upon these souls - while life flits past their eyes.

the trophy poem chris laverty

◄ On the UK leaving the EU

The Pillar Of Tears ►

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