adventures in dysthymia

Monday, November 26, 2012

Fields, a poem


Women of Ireland it might
be, or Fields of Gold,
bringing the melodies
and memories of all

the fields I’ll never walk
and all the women who could
have waited in them, filling
and draining me at once.

The mists of the heart must cling
as that music, yesterday’s
elusive pipes that played
and faded into all

that never was yet still
might wait past the horizon,
wait in fields that held
tomorrow’s every promise.

Stephen Brooke ©2012

More a thought-in-progress than a finished poem (as usual). There are indeed songs that can awaken a yearning in one. Or in me, anyway.

1 comment:

Bob said...

Love it... especially the second stanza, very jealous of that one.