Unknown, John Lyons (40 x 40 cm, oil on canvas)

Nothing ever ends
        nothing is ever finished
a portrait
        a poem
nothing is ever complete
        And so a day a week a year
a lifetime : how could love
        ever be exhausted

A cluster of actions
        condensed around
a burning star
        ash of our hours
in which the kiss
        is mightier
than the sword

In Margravine we sat
        and consumed our love
as squirrels played
        among the headstones
and we were driven
        by the wisdom
of our feelings

Bluebells grew
        in the shadow
of the cemetery wall
        and here and there
crocuses
and daffodils

There is no reason
        for love : it simply is
of necessity and brooks
        no denial    So too poetry
the passion according
        to my heart

John Lyons