Arthur has reminded me of an exercise in Anglo-Saxon alliterative verse that
I managed to complicate with an acrostic a while ago:-
Wast Water
Watery wilderness
washing the wounds
As the scree-slopes,
scoured deeply, slide
Sand and boulders
from the bald bastions.
The rock looms relentlessly,
leaving the lake
With its sombre soul
shadowed and sunless.
A cold capstone
covered in cloud,
That seldom sees
the sun, is sharply
Etched by everpresent
sheets of endless
Rain that remove
the desire to remain.
Roger.
|