Hang out the Bunting

Hang out the Bunting

Time and decay
         nothing lasts
a single rosebud
         a thorn in the side
nothing lasts
         Sentences that creak
to the very end – full-stop
         Clutch at straws
in a howling gale
         sooner than trap time

There in the churchyard
         bones gone to dust
stones gone to dust
         names of wife
and husband
         mother and lover
and son and daughter
         all gone to dust
the limestone cracks
         the letters peel
nothing to be read
         of the mason’s craft
weathered away –
         time reduced to rubble

Yet there in the caves
         walls daubed
with the bright blood of berries
         a vivid remembrance
to celebrate the hunt
         and the life lived
for and in the moment
         gathered under a single roof
to share their time—
         that which never lasts
except perhaps in creation
         and in acts of love

A single rosebud :
         and a swallow swoops
and is gone
         like François Villon

And love—
         love is so rare
but it’s all that’s left

John Lyons

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