Deep day so chasming blue, translucing green,
dazzle me do and ruffle through my hair.
A darkness hand in darkness dances where
these shadows stir up what it is I mean.
I welcome back the language of the breeze,
for stillness starved an inward life of change:
day by day the familiar estranged,
until a prison house where nothing pleased.
As sun-gift to the inner light of leaves,
the dance the gusting breezes lead they show:-
Lights! Action! Humour! We begin to glow;
our shadows blacken, separate and weave
behind the illustrious, stepping deep;
for they have their creation while we sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
