The grass grows tall
and ivy twines
o’er gate and wall and path.
Once a carriage road
then a track,
in the end, a path.
The earth recalls their passing,
the wind their song.
I stopped there once,
lost, or in a dream,
my footsteps raw in the dew bright field.
I remembered what lay beyond,
heard the voices faint and far,
saw them there,
as they were once,
as I once was.

I raised a hand to try the gates,
but rain and rust had wrought their ruin.
the gate sealed, a way no more.
A raven, like a sentry watched,
spread his wings,
darkness loomed behind him.
I felt the silence,
felt the ivy stir
like a curtain for a moment pulled aside
now falling back once more.

Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.

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