Sunday, August 9, 2009

DREAM. 10:45 am

ROW, ROW, ROW......

I'm walking to the garden in Bradock park;

To my little garden plot on this very still

Saturday morning, very still and calm;

And wafting through the air a sound is teasing my ears.

YOUR BOAT.......

I have always wondered that those words

Scan so well. The voice is light and sincere,

Maternal, it seeks my ears so very gently; I sense

A rhythmic movement in the playground at the top of the alley.


So gentle she is, gentle as my own mother

Sweet and simple under a porcelain sky.

Down the stream of life I've flown, gently;

Being gentle has never been hard at all for me.


But oh, my dear mother, the merrily part

That has so often been hard in this my life;

But I have pulled this heavy oar of mine

Happily, no matter how rocky and turbid the stream.

LIFE IS BUT A...........

On the August air the little response failed to carry;

Instead came the rident staccato chime of a child's laugh.

1 comment:

Sara said...

This is lovely, poignant. So simple and yet the whole trajectory of a life implied. Thank you.