Just got my contributor's copy of Aoife's Kiss (December 2006). My first (paid) poetry publication since I've started writing. I post it here now:
The Grave Upon the Hill
'twas upon a cruel December morn,
the wind howling with a blistering chill,
that she gazed drearily into the storm,
gazed solely at the grave upon the hill.
And the fire burning low in the hearth,
hissing and popping upon logs of pine,
did nothing to warm her anguishing heart,
nor brought it freedom from a haunted mind.
Thus the fire died to smouldering ash,
the woamn sat forelornly in the cold,
and in reached winter with an icy grasp,
snatching away her sorrow stricken soul.
But upon winter monrings bleak and gray,
she is still seen minding his hilltop grave.