Of stately, British homes.
In the peaceful graveyards.
Lay their long forgotten bones.
We never heard their laughter.
Nor saw their tear stained face.
The now, lie all forgotten
In that far away, cold place.
The blood that long ago dried up.
Still flows throughout our veins.
Our children, playing in the yard.
Still play the same old games.
On it goes, around it goes.
Like a never ending stream.
Fathers, Mother, Uncles, Aunts.
Into their land of dreams.
We search for long, forgotten, loved ones.
Through the dusty shelves of time.
We imagine they are with us.
As deaths hill we start to climb.
Then we will be as they are.
A picture on a wall.
Will someone try to find us?
If they hear our voices call.
We are the essence of their beings.
Deep within us beats the memory of their lives.
Their hearts blood and their loving live forever.
Shining from within a new born babies eyes.
Written by Katie North, 1997©
Osborne house East Cowes Isle of Wight
No comments:
Post a Comment