I Plodded Lonely as a Cloud
I plodded lonely as a cloud
That thumps outcast o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd
Of humans, armed unto the gills;
And when young Victor spotted me
They swarmed, and I could only flee.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle in the sky's expanse,
Their torches marched in shuddering lines
And marked the angry mob's advance:
The trembling flames, my desperate flight,
My darkest nightmare every night.
I see flames bob above their heads
And Victor marching at the fore,
Oh, had he only kept me dead!
Instead I crouch here, friendless, poor,
Imagining the fatal day
They find my craggy hideaway.
For oft, whilst lying on the floor,
My only bedding piles of dust,
I brood and wonder, more and more,
What would have happened had I just
Not made that terrible mistake,
And tossed the girl into the lake.
by Chilliam Wordsworth
and Tara Campbell
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Tara Campbell (www.taracampbell.com) is a writer, teacher, Kimbilio Fellow, and fiction editor at Barrelhouse. Prior publication credits include SmokeLong Quarterly, Masters Review, Jellyfish Review, Booth, and McSweeney's Internet Tendency. She's also the author of a novel, TreeVolution, and two collections, Circe's Bicycle and Midnight at the Organporium. Tweet her up at @TaraCampbellCom