On this rueful menu
Of sprawls of blanked windows,
The world seems in retreat.
Nowhere is idyllic,
No place remains the same.
Our damp minds shed some tears
Of unknown provenance;
Nothing belongs to us.
The old ones, lying flat,
Unburied, unreplaced,
Stretch out beyond our dreams,
Beyond our memories.
Lost in our foulest mood,
Are we still visible?
Waiting to explode into a brand new day when it comes - - -
we say goodbye to the burdens of too many down trodden paths
great poem.
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Stephen Gospage
Wed 20th Oct 2021 17:09
Thanks, Nigel and thanks to Holden for the like.