THE STREAM AT LOVER’S LANE

by John M. Morton — March 2005©

Noise is faint and far away. There’s a moment here For my soul to browse a little And take a few familiar steps Beyond my body to wade the shallows.

He looks for round stones there, While I wash a double handful of quiet On my shoulders, face and neck, While I rest against a warm rock.

And he comes back To sit just outside my door, And dries his toes.

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