Near St. Buryan can be found
Nineteen stones. Two pillars
Of granite flank them on the ground
Like a pair of gaolers.
One sabbath eve nineteen young maids
Instead of going to pray
Strayed into a field's furtive shades
Hearing two pipers play.
Despite the day the maids did dance
Faster and faster still
And whirled into a senseless trance
Caused by those men of ill.
Lightning out of the cloudless air
Unfleshed their tender bones
And turned them and the evil pair
Into a group of stones.
Ronald Bottrall (1906-1989)
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1 comment:
From The Dreamt Sea: An Anthology of Anglo-Cornish Poetry 1928-2004. Francis Boutle Press. Thanks to chris s on TMA for drawing my attention to this one.
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