She is restless tonight, so very restless;
Teasing elm and rosehip, chasing leaves and
Hounding an old bent can along a footpath.
I hear her as I lie here in my dark,
Tugging at doors, pushing at curtains;
An uninvited guest, nimble and unseen,
Bored with small things.
But she is older than the hills and
Older still than all that came before;
A breath formed before the mountains,
That blew life into dry earth, now racing
From river to forest to city's edge,
Whistling and howling as she dances on
To where the dawn will obliterate the night
And roars will become whispers that
Tousle the waves of a gleaming sea and
Speak insistently of new adventures.
YOU ARE READING
Fragments And Reflections
PoetryPoems looking at everything and anything not in my other collections. Here you'll find life and time, wild oceans and lonely coast paths, busy streets and empty hotel rooms, wild concerts and late night writing. All just fragments and reflections, l...
