Two poems for the first day of November     

The withered crone sat on her stone

Of riven granite grey

And through her crystal ball did see

The thrall of a humanity

All Saints and Sinners too

Just like me and you

Whose moans and groans belie

Perfection promised; yet to come

When all may be said and done

On judgement day.



Us all went to Halloween Fair

But when we arrived nobody was there

To care for Us – poor souls –

The hearts and minds of which wander

Through a darkness of discontent

That causes us to lament the years gone by

In which we could have tried

To reach perfection like All Saints

And Sinners too.


Roberto Cavaleiro, Tomar, October 31, 2023