It is late afternoon
         and the storm has passed
leaves litter the paths
         —bird silence
         one of the two bay trees
that stood as sentries
          either side of the door step
a large fragment
         of the wounded terracotta
cast to one side
         Stillness now
as nature draws
         a kind of breath
I’m still here
         in this place
little changed
         but for the hours
that have passed
         through me
and around me
         I’ve generated no events
but I’ve written words
         shaped words
with a rhythm and a purpose
         moulded words into a poem
that seeks more to celebrate
         than to make sense
After all
         who am I to attempt
to ‘make sense’ of a world
         that is perfectly competent
in all its accomplishments
         I have nothing of value
to teach to the rose or anyone else
         I look and I listen
and I hope to learn
         what’s there to be learnt
I have no qualm
         no quarrel

John Lyons


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