A poem reminiscing about cold childhood mornings and the warmth of the wood stove.
“Father!” she cried, banging on the doors. “Father, can you hear me?” She waited, but no answer came from the church. “Please, Father,” she cried again, “we need help in the village! The men have not returned, and the Elders will do nothing! Won’t you open the door?” Jehanna banged harder but to no avail. No matter how loudly she knocked or cried aloud, the priest did not come.
A poem written with a syllable pattern of 5-7-5-7-7...for all the pagan souls who have lost the voice to sing.
A poem about two lovers.
meanwhile, the days passed with foul weather and thick fog and still there was no sight of the husbands returning from their venture over the waves. Jehanna, as well as the other fisher-wives, grew increasingly anxious... Part 3 of "The Bells of Reine".