POETRY

Who will dance in the pastures now, for the summer has early gone;

It took the storks, the swallows, swifts to the warmer lands of the sun;

Prophet-like the cool breeze speaks of the winter’s hiss and howl;

In meadows where we danced so gay soon leaden skies will growl.

Our songs were lifted by the breeze and danced across the weald;

And like the autumn leaves to come they skipped across the fields,

For warm winds blow before the snow, they scatter come what may;

The summer flowers have yet to sleep when time shall have its say.

Their summer dance and meadow song will never let me be,

And dare I wonder what shall come of those of spirits free;

Like swallows, swifts and flights of storks they leave with autumn clime;

Whilst I will be still chained to thee in thoughts of summertime.

Michael Walsh

quite_write@yahoo.co.uk