The Thirteenth Month
L Lorraine Margueritte Gasrel Black
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The thirteenth month goes unnamed
And stealthily steals away-and comes- and goes
grows and grows.
There are no earthly friends -just a voice
and a barren heath-where the brave go.
And the old live young.
Age is ageless and Time is timeless
dreams ''become real''
Mists obscure the vision
-and Its death is blameless.
Then I wandered that lone dark road
sitting by my hearth.
Published in the Spring 1970 issue of the Beachplums
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