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Sunday, 29 March 2015

After

The Morning After

The sun rises from its slumber
and bids the moon farewell;
then, peeking through the curtains,
begins to cast its spell.

My eyes are barely open
and my vision still impaired;
the silence only broken
by the calling of a bird

seeking shelter in the hedgerow -
alone but undeterred.
It sings its song so softly yet
that’s all that can be heard

on this, the morning after, when
my lips no more do tell
of dreams from which I’ve woken
for time has rung its bell.

John Walton

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