The music breathes into my soul,
phantom fingers stroke the keys,
draw breath to blow the ‘bone,
wisps of smoke curl overhead
‘gainst the naked globe.
Far, far away atop a craggy hill
the lone, plaintive cry
of a pennywhistle fills the sky
and the mist rises and curls
t’wards the ascending sun.
Nineteen years and what has changed?
Promises unfulfilled ~
The world stands still…
©Denise G Allen, 27 August 2013 04:00