Saturday, November 15, 2014

Written in Stone

My thoughts are written on the wind that blows
Across the ocean, desert, open field,
Or any empty spaces. They won't yield
Their secret to a soul. A river flows
Through my imagination, and a rose
Grows on the banks, where lonely knights once kneeled
To offer flowers to a lady, sealed
In feckless armour, jeered at by the crows.

I wrote them on a stone, carved carefully
And buried in the ground to keep them safe.
I paid a good sum to a local waif
To mark the spot with cover, plant a tree,
And wait until I came there. Now I see
A bare place, and my armour starts to chafe.