Behind me the imagined Abbey dreams

The knobbled grassy hillocks we walked on
May  be the graves of monks who are long gone
The vertical remains in one high wall
From which a blackbird makes his sunset call.

The  plainchant sung for centuries is here
For  us who open up our inner ear
The sacred music floats away like leaves
Caught and carried by an autumn breeze

We stood beside the river, hand in hand
The water was as clear  as love’s demands
And still, in my mind’s eye, I see that stream
Behind me  the imagined Abbey dreams

An elegiac moment caught in words
Entranced by symbols  like the darting birds

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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