11-15-2013, 01:16 AM
She sings in whispered words that tell
of hissing grass and turning leaves;
whilst all about the hum and drone
from hives of man, fills spaces where
her notes fall soft upon the air.
From silence comes a moving moan,
a long held breath that song relieves,
of hissing grass and turning leaves
that fall and fly in twisting air;
until the boughs refuse to sway
and naked, stark against flat sky,
no longer dance but winds defy.
So cold the blast, so short the day,
that no one ventures, no one dare.
Whilst all about the hum and drone,
persistent in the course of night,
makes fright-wide eyes in warm safe beds
and pricks the ears with city fear.
So hope to dream and you may hear
the song that sings in sleeping heads
of whispered words ‘til dawning light.
original
Wind sings in whispered words that tell
of hissing grass and turning leaves;
whilst all about the hum and drone
from hives of man, fills spaces where
her notes fall soft upon the air.
From silence comes a moving moan,
a long held breath that song relieves,
of hissing grass and turning leaves
that fall and fly in twisting air;
until the boughs refuse to sway
and naked, stark against flat sky,
no longer dance but winds defy.
So cold the blast, so short the day,
that no one ventures, no one dare.
Whilst all about the hum and drone,
persistent in the course of night,
makes fright-wide eyes in warm safe beds
and pricks the ears with city fear.
So hope to dream and you may hear
the song that sings in sleeping heads
of whispered words ‘til dawning light.
Tectak
Autumn 2013
of hissing grass and turning leaves;
whilst all about the hum and drone
from hives of man, fills spaces where
her notes fall soft upon the air.
From silence comes a moving moan,
a long held breath that song relieves,
of hissing grass and turning leaves
that fall and fly in twisting air;
until the boughs refuse to sway
and naked, stark against flat sky,
no longer dance but winds defy.
So cold the blast, so short the day,
that no one ventures, no one dare.
Whilst all about the hum and drone,
persistent in the course of night,
makes fright-wide eyes in warm safe beds
and pricks the ears with city fear.
So hope to dream and you may hear
the song that sings in sleeping heads
of whispered words ‘til dawning light.
original
Wind sings in whispered words that tell
of hissing grass and turning leaves;
whilst all about the hum and drone
from hives of man, fills spaces where
her notes fall soft upon the air.
From silence comes a moving moan,
a long held breath that song relieves,
of hissing grass and turning leaves
that fall and fly in twisting air;
until the boughs refuse to sway
and naked, stark against flat sky,
no longer dance but winds defy.
So cold the blast, so short the day,
that no one ventures, no one dare.
Whilst all about the hum and drone,
persistent in the course of night,
makes fright-wide eyes in warm safe beds
and pricks the ears with city fear.
So hope to dream and you may hear
the song that sings in sleeping heads
of whispered words ‘til dawning light.
Tectak
Autumn 2013