A Wig for Miss DeVore
27
Avalon
By Janice Hall Quilligan
Stars do not shine at Avalon
Nor raindrops fall on velvet lawns,
Through lonely days and endless years
I’ve witnessed half a million dawns.
The house is old and thick with dust,
The sagging steps are green with moss,
The cobbled paths stretch to the sea
Where bits of driftwood idly toss.
There is no life at Avalon
The birds have fled and all is still,
But I, the ghost called Might Have Been,
Yet wander on a nearby hill.
