It all comes to nothing, nothing at all:
the shape of those days, just a face in the wall.
A tale re-told will eventually pall,
and flat-on-your-face cannot further fall.
Yes, it was 'for this the clay grew tall'.
What springs in a spring will fall in a fall:
the market traders set out their stall,
fish boats trawl nets, spider-webs, all.
And streams of time a parting fall
round a rock of years, that 'cysted ball;
and we will no walk by cliff-castles tall,
nor stroll down to Portland to sit on the wall.
YOU ARE READING
Gifts and Shards Vol 2
PoetryThis is the second and final volume of 'Gifts and Shards'. This takes us from the second month to now well over three years later, though there were many C poems in the collections tracking the seasons. There are no similar stories!
