Time Passes Time weeps dark tears; The stonework of the soul it smears; Tyres burn along the

pathways of the days And all the particles of light blight our eyes. Sky’s canopy of dreams splinters With drone satellites in flight. Words fractured by dumb age limp Down unlit alleyways of bitter wine, Arthritic joys and deaths of fading rhymes. A nursery splashes laughter Behind a coloured pencil fence; An old man drenched in tweed Trundles a wheelie-case At his lost and leaden feet. Red-capped goldfinches release Imprisoned niger seeds Delicately selective and precise. A stubborn blackbird taps out Morse-code on dawn’s window-pane. Reluctant sunlight filters through the mist, Infidels of form assume unaccustomed roles On morning’s figment stage.

Was this really what we came to see? Joy withers like a rose plucked early From the bush; drought drains The optimistic dancing of the stream, A bird targeted above the moor Abruptly ends its soaring flight.

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