A gentle cascade of thoughts and words to fill a Sunday morning in which the world is struggling to awake from its deep sleep. The sound of traffic in the distance but otherwise little movement. Silence almost complete. A perfect dream-state. A time to make love and little else.

White echoes

How many lush green fields
      and slender silver streams
how many gold-rimmed sunsets
      how many spiralling kites
will fit into this endless silence ?
      Who heard our footsteps
as we walked through the park
      who saw us climb the hill
as squirrels jumped
      from tree to tree
as children filled
      their lives with play ?
Dreams and hope and desire
      grew within us
and time offered us
      its pledges which
we did not dare to believe
      Who saw as the curtains
were drawn
      as you laid down beside me
laid in my arms
      laid in my heart ?
The wind was still
      through the night
as spiders wove
      and the roses
took their rest
      Today birds will swoop
and feast on the berries
      the chestnuts will swell
on the branches
      and leaves will form
a carpet to take us
      into winter
and to a landscape
      sketched by frost
modelled by snow
      and draped in silence
Where will love be then
      and hope and dreams ?
Where will our shadows lie
      what scenes will be staged
within the theatre
      of our blind ecstasies
what life will be left
      to be led
by our bartered blood ?

John Lyons