Passed
Lives
Could I have been the hermit on a Celtic coast,
the writer in her hut, the poet praying at the well.
A solitary saint?
The lighthouse keeper, high, alone and lofty on some
rocky shore.
The singer with a voice pure and lasting, effortless
and sure.
The dancer with just music flowing in my veins.
The player of the tunes with much feeling in the
strains.
The tennis player, swift, precise and pure, a legend
in the game.
The true artist; seeing all and then setting free
the sight.
The whitest, wildest pony roaming wide and free.
The sensual, sultry cat, somewhat pampered, fed and
warm.
The bird that always flies alone, glides, swoops
and nests
where peace lies in a beauty
which the taint of Man has yet to kill.
Cait O’Connor
WOW!!
ReplyDeleteBeautifully said.
ReplyDeleteThe modern world does seem quite impossible sometimes.
Sending warm greetings.
Cait, thank you again for being a generous poet.
ReplyDeleteMay I also thank you for that early morning view of the brilliant kingfisher. Wow!
xo