Posted by: Peadar Ban | May 6, 2013

The River Time

You must be quiet here

Quiet as can be

Quiet when you come, and as you go.

 

It is always like this

The shells of days scattered

Along the shore of memory lie

The bleached limbs of years

Twisted, whitened, dry

Still in the mist of morning

The cool mist from the river rising

The river between the mountains and the sea.

Softly in the mist, hidden deep within the trees

Waking birds morning songs sing.

Nothing else moves, only songs and mist and time

To peel away the day

To wash the past away.

 

Now moves memory along the sandy shore

Toeing this shell, then that one there

By the water’s edge

Not a ripple yet.

Some are polished, white

By water, wind and sand.

Some just pieces once so grand.

Mist and memory mix, which is which?

 

The forest green is gray

In the mist’s embrace

It will green again

As grows the swelling day

 

But now the strangest things

In ragged order lie

Along the soft sand shore

Attracting memory’s eye.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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