The Spectre Knows: sixth Pale Knight
The Spectre Knows
‘Then further,’ says the guest, ‘we are not talking about intuition. If a railwayman observe that passengers are in the habit of jumping from the cars before the train comes to a halt, he will say, ‘There you have the makings of an accident’, and may well be proved right. We do not call that prophecy.
Michelwhyte, of ninety-nine years
Seventy and more visiting old stores
of books, his favourite enviable pastime
Dust, and tiny beads of sweat…of fingertips, of saints
Of leaves’ tender gilding none else had managed to unstick
Michelwhyte, a patient wight, a slowly mummifying servant
of Christ, a man who keeps his watches, a pale knight
gliding edges of evening-hours smiles and animated eyes
Kind-hearted, pontificating Michelwhyte
The very man—astonishing!
Old Michelwhyte, living, truly? You don’t say…
‘Ay, ’tis he.’
A near century of mounting cataclysm, and the spectre knows
It Is All One
the doom of man, propagating like a cloud
The ancient sexton unearthed again by a junior reporter
sent in search of local colour
‘Ere the plague arrived in England, Godfrey had been seen
Ten villages along the coast been left without a living soul
And gales blowing down their walls
And bones of dead men lying on their beds
Still lying on their beds.’
It is unfortunately true, that one of the easiest mistakes of memory is in the ordering of events. Let me digress.
Oh, I hope you’ll take it in stages, Roscoe says. Don’t want to tax yourself, learning a new skill.
(copyright 2017 Stephanie Foster)