Moore on Patriarchy
On Light Verse
Poet: G.N. Gabbard
in winter: the sea is gray.
The reds and golds are pale and drained.
The flat stones of its huge square
are slick and dark after it has rained.
a bridge a lonely walker
bundle in hand, hurries home.
He meets no one, and seems oblivious
of balcony, tower and dome.
from people, heat and thieves
its ghosts can come alive at noon:
Aschenbach sits down at a table
and stirs a tall drink with a spoon.