by David K Asamoah

The weather wasn’t favourable that day.
The grey sky wore the bitterest of scowls
And from above the crowd of ashen clouds 
Drifted so aimlessly like they were free–
Free from the wind’s sure will
And down below, upon the solid ground, 
The bustle did not calm, even more loud
Were busy roads transporting hurried traffic  
And markets breathed swift business at the pulse 
Of the clicks by the till.

Far, far away from all this rush did dwell
A timeless fortress from the everyday,
With walls of oak and aspen flushed with green.
A kingdom hidd’n, retraced with careful feet,
Was found at peace and still. 
It was near silent, minus the slight breeze 
And the light rustling of the shivering leaves, 
The quietude of murmured conversation 
From tree to tree, held gentle tones that carried 
Despite the springtime chill. 

The tune of the tranquil rang out therein 
Yes, all at hand could listen then dissolve 
Into those lulling murmurs and absolve 
Themselves from this day’s groan. To then have felt 
As sweet as thyme and dill.
Alas the sun must rest and memories fade 
And where a peace had set, thin sighs pervade
And all that glowed in mind, in present dimmed. 
With nothing left save thought and my own skin
Am I to face the shrill?

The Poor Print

Established in 2013, The Poor Print is the student-run newspaper of Oriel College, Oxford. Written by members of the JCR, MCR, SCR and staff, new issues are published fortnightly during term. Our current Executive Editors are Siddiq Islam and Jerric Chong.

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