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Not a Word

As the wind rushed over the moor
I stopped, with slow steps, quiet heart, and nothing sought
I left behind the hurried, crowded days
For afternoon light
Those hurried days I wash away, swift rising and setting of the sun
Afternoon light in green hues unraveling

 

 

Oh the mind of man!

 

 

So often without his heart
There residing
But if it is
If it is
Enters in that other voice
Sweetly singing

 

 

Oh shrill bell of the mind afeared!

 

 

You are no more.

 

 

I have not a word to say
No words, no thoughts
Only a kiss in the dew of evening




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