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Peter Steward's Web Pages |
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Further Places Revisited Further ramblings, further returns, They all return their memories. I was tired after afternoon activity But not too tired to enjoy their remains, For she was with me the whole day. A gap of time had not changed a thing, As I walked that same park hand in hand with another. She was different, the place was the same Religious in its mercy, outlined in its beauty, Wonderingly fresh in its approach, The flowers smelling as sweetly as ever Tinged with their own troubles. We talked now as we passed the new shops Newly erected after decades And somehow out of place in the world within a world. The corner shop of my childhood, the hairdressers is still there Unaware of the demolition to take place in the near future, A destruction that will tear up the roots of those that care And replace them with vulgar six-storey monstrosities. But the future is past, the dye is cast In inconceivable revenge on the people Whose only duty was to live, And live with a peace of mind extracted From some holy place at some point in our world's history. The workmen have begun to tear the place up As if they are just cardboard idols of unwanted waste. At least one house stands and it is this we have come to see. Withered but still erect, older by force of years, Dirtier by way of the non-living it has suffered Oh that we had a key To turn that human lock And open up the host of stories held captive inside. Oh that we could divest those sullen secrets Encompassed in decay, oh that we could live again. Moving on we cover the ground faster now, I am tired and need somewhere to rest But first we can see other places, The road names after another town And finally that place of some weeks ago. God's peace-time refreshment hails from above To help us on our way. But it becomes overdone and we must find some shelter. Our usual place is taken up By some form of humanity - we must move on. We have yet an hour to spend In each other's company. We will us that time well And avoid getting wet. The place we chose was peaceful in its slumbers and dry. It was quiet because of unadventurous mankind Who did not wish to stroll in the wet Not far from our place of activity. We sat on the cold stone that warmed in our presence. The time passed fast now as we loved, As we loved. We listened for approaching footsteps And laughed as they came by. But we were happy in that place My love and I The months would not have approved But some centuries later that now occurred They were not there, The cloisters were empty The outside for our use We were happy in that place My love and I. |