Satis Re-Visited

On the edge of the marsh,
ancient walls looming,
charred from the fire
yellow lichen blooming;
restless souls haunt
the dank empty halls
you can hear the despair
in their pitiful calls.

On moonlit nights
with a soft wind sighing
you will hear the sound
of Miss Havisham dying;
sometimes then
when conditions are right
you can glimpse Estella
dressed in white.

Taunting Pip, making him sad,
beneath the clock weeps
the spectre of
Joe Gargery’s lad;
in the ruin of Satis
doom laden and harsh
as dour as Magwitch
on his ill fated path.

©
Copyright
VMM
2008