Song Of The Middle Ages

Song Of The Middle Ages People wept for grief in the Middle Ages. Night was frightful and its hidden stages Were peopled by insidious demons – glaring. Even by the stars, no one was faring For fear of evil witches Or insane killers with their Saxon knives. Lords shut up their castles, Abed among their chattel, Waiting for a wisp of glorious light. Serf and Nobel could be struck by death, At any time, at any intake of the breath. And so belief, beset by heavenly goals, Was holy and intense. A bank of shadows or a sudden wind Might be the devil's sign, Or hideous Jew's design. And over all the land lay creatures of suspense. Little meadows held a great starvation Threatening to thin the population Bishops hugged the cross bars of their crosses, Still frightened every noon By the garish rising of a gibbous moon. And surely it must come, Trailing the West bound sun, As cart must follow dray horse of our losses. Our present life is also bent by fright, Despite electric binding of the night. Dire diseases threaten to begin again, Making now a twin of what was then. Carl Estrin