29 September, 2008



Mind still sleepless
in the lee of two tall stones;
wind enough to sweep the stars away;
moon faint in the hint of dawn.

No ease;
no murmured comfort from the past;
no magic circle.

Centuries gone
other men had set them here
as solids in an uncertain world,
had laboured these reluctant stones
to pattern the routine of seasons
and foretell of warmth after chill.

Arm-stretched, stand,
fingertip their bulk,
as others had surely done;
feel the mind rise
with their lifting sun.

Then leave,
birdsong lightening the step,
sunglow on the world
and a better season ahead.

© Ken Baldwin

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