RUNAWAY JOHN
John, the willful skeleton,
escaped from his tomb and away did run.
Clatter-rattle, chatter-rattle,
click, clack, click—
he ran until his joints felt sick.
He wobbled along as the moon rolled down
like an apple of snow beyond the town.
Clack-click, rattle-clatter,
CRASH! John fell
against the wall of a dried-up well
and scattered into the grass. Then day
filled the wood in its whispery way:
dew-hush, lark-twitter,
shadowy boughs;
a wind poured over the bony brow,
and out from the skull a low sound came—
a note as hollow as poor John’s name.
Hoot-sound, flute-sound,
drifting the breeze,
reached only flowers, stones and trees.
Other than these it touched no one,
and never has yet, under sun after sun.
No matter how fiercely
you listen at dawn,
you can’t hear the moan of Runaway John.
_____________
by Joseph Hutchison
from The Heart Inside the Heart
Thanks for all your kind words for this one-off. It was to be part of a group of children's poems. But I seem to be constitutionally incapable of <i>projects</i>. Hence my historical novel that ended with a thud on page 280—half way through the story. Even my book <a href="https://www.jhwriter.com/coalsdetails.html" rel="nofollow"><i>Bed of Coals</i></a>, which seem to be a project, happened
I like this poem. Really nicely captures the old nursery rhyme and magic chant music. The rattle of bones.
Thanks <br /><br />for this timely tricky treat,<br />such unearthly music <br /><br />even the dead are moved<br />to hear its beat.
I love it! Thanks for remembering us kids.