Hymen

J. F. Hendry

Listen to the voice in the cliff and the marriage in the drum.
Sacked is the tall city and flood storms the dead tower.
A conscript of no creed and a bride of no century,
His helmet full of poems, her trousseau full of bandages,
Rooted in chains of penitence of penury,

Plead with the saints who enter lion's cages.
A soldier and a nurse with a stage for an altar
Kneel like marionettes till kingdom come,
In the ikon's painted laughter
He touched her bridal gown.
It grew stiff as a shroud.
Mad as his blood she died
When the spires in her eyes fell down,
And he was married to hereafter.