The Fyr Review

A ray of summer fell on my grave
So climbing up to feel the day
A weary limb with purpose gave
A thrust; to reach the level ground.
And tugged the bones began to peel
Away from rotting flesh there sealed
And tombed inside a barrow mound.
My finger tips, not rosy red,
But bleached, then broke the trampled earth
(Which had been heaped with winter dregs
The sodden leaves of autumn’s burn)
Then pink began to grow around
My hand that shifted dirt about
Under a sky, unfolding fast
A frenzied hole; but stopping thought,
“What purpose had I found before
When found myself as nature cast?”
And stopped, and patted back the earth
And laid again in sacred hearth
Aloof from dreams the dying birth.

©2026 R.A.R. Knight

R.A.R. Knight

R.A.R. Knight writes (dabbles) in mainly alliterative verse and poems centuries out of date. You can find him on X with the handle @trad_poet. He has had poems accepted for publication in journals like Forgotten Ground Regained, the VoegelinView, Reveille Journal, and La Rotonde.

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