A Stroll Though Memory, Time and Politics With Stops Along The Way
Fall, even the name says down
Crushed into earth.
Leaves of autumn become
No more than mulch, sacrificing what has been
To a future spring.
Foot falls, damp, the lamps of
Twilight wash sidewalks
Already wet with fog
Old songs filter through
Air thick with might have been.
Low moaning of horns and whining of clarinets
Sing of places at the end of a bar,
Old movies, and mysterious women in black
A time when gravity finally wins
Taking hold of a year almost done.
Retired great grandmother living in the Northwest US. Former radio Public Service Director and National Accounts Manager.
I’m a hair-dishevelled heilan’ coo,
Hamish McKay be ma name;
Welcome tae this dreichet glen
I’m cursed tae ca’ ma hame.
Depending on the mood I’m in
I’ll raise ma horns on high,
An’ if I like the look o’ ye
I’ll likely let ye by.
But should I dinnae like the look
O’ ye, then tak great care,
I’ll raise ma horns on high again,
Go on, get oot o’there!
So whether welcome yae or nae,
I’ll raise these horns sae mean,
Then ye shall ken ma meaning
By the twinkle o’ ma een.
Courtesy of
MARION GRAY Wollaton Road Wollaton Park Nottingham