Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
OLD
Its in the memory of birds this age
The post on which to perch to proclaim mornings glory
the spots of the past where the pickings are richest
the ancestors favourites ,the old places
Its in the roots of the trees this age
As they suck in the leaves as they fall
with some knowledge returning to earth to roots
to nature,to nurture, to be reborn
its in the stones the oldness
the mothers bones exposed less
where moss and lichens creeping hand paints steadily
and the birdsong is distant like fading memories
The post on which to perch to proclaim mornings glory
the spots of the past where the pickings are richest
the ancestors favourites ,the old places
Its in the roots of the trees this age
As they suck in the leaves as they fall
with some knowledge returning to earth to roots
to nature,to nurture, to be reborn
its in the stones the oldness
the mothers bones exposed less
where moss and lichens creeping hand paints steadily
and the birdsong is distant like fading memories
About Me
- paul
- deepest, devon, United Kingdom
- I don't know what I am but i know what i like.poetry, art and chipping at or joining together chunks of old wood,whilst listening to some good roots reggae or dub, world/folk music or blues all balanced by some good old punk rock.
No comments:
Post a Comment