Monday, 1 August 2016

Of Norfolk

The whisper of silver leaves under wide skies
In ancient tongues asking me
Where are your dreams now
Wild lass, wild lass
 Only wreathed as silver strands in your hair
The willows are calling me
Back to the water lands
Windmills to the sea
Where river and sand flat and blue martins ply
Under the old cobbles
A shore of brick and stone
In memory of a place once we called home

Where are your dreams now
Wild lass, wild lass
Only wreathed as silver strands in your hair
Lost to the pine wind in the wild sea air

All your dreams travelled
A gathering storm
But your heart is a vaulted cathedral where angels sing
And love, ripe red and burnished
Beats to the steady drum
And here is hope, the living prayer, unfurled to the wind

The whisper of silver leaves under wide skies
In ancient tongues asking me
Where are your dreams now
Wild lass, wild lass
And I shout into the returning tide
Of the mud and salt and iron hard bone
Of barrel wood, frayed rope
And shells turned to stone
Of the stained glass and old songs
And cornfields' ripe gold
Where river and sand flat and blue martins ply
Under the old cobbles
A shore of brick and stone
Now memories of a place once we called home

(P.Rust)