The Artist Without Two

To Thunder Cape

There he lies, sleeping, sleeping

while the waters softly murmur

while the darkness, creeping, creeping

Steals upon the Northern Shore

Will he rise, leaping, leaping

With a bolt of jagged thunder

With a wild wind sweeping, sweeping

Down upon the Northern Shore?

Ye, he rises. leaping, leering

With his thunder bolt a searing

Fire forest, fire all

The Northland belches a fiery pall

The flames, they writhe and leap to fall

Smoldering at the giant's knees

As there he bends among his trees.

Hail then the wild wind heavy with cloud

To split wide the sky - tear open the shroud.

Black is the mountain -dank is the air,

Hark, to the East! Look, over there!

Up sun, rise, peeping, peeping

Send the darkness leaping, leaping.

Fast he flies, weeping, weeping,

For his body, seeping, seeping,

Fades into the Northern Land.

Down he lies, sleeping, sleeping,

With his mild wind sweeping, sweeping,

Gently 'cross the Northern Shore.

Photos of Sleeping Giant by B. Brill, August 2011

Poem Author: B. Brill, 1965

Published in : Betty Brill's Cry At The Edge Of Forever, PGI 2005