Poem

First Lines**


Everything need be dramatically drawn down.

Through the thin wall he heard the tinkling ice.

He thought of his daughter grown wise.

Despite the bleak weather, he crawled from his bed.

Grandson, don't go to war.

Something bit him and the wound itched.

Through the dark narrows the road followed the river.

Her mother may be dead, I don't know.

She despised him.


**Thanks to RP Thomas


TS