Friday, 30 September 2016

This is my Valley

This is my Valley

This is my valley,
a warm western breeze,
a God-given jungle
of summer-green trees.
Steep hillsides with footways,
a carpet of flowers,
a thousand birds trilling
from canopy bowers.
Down rapid and rock
the river’s deep roar
as ocean waves jostle to kiss the white pebbles
that line the long shore.

I once saw a girl
bedraggled and wet,
it wasn’t with rain
nor was it with sweat,
stood among trees like
a trick of the light
with shadows behind
as black as the night.
A feeling of awe
like never before
as ocean waves jostle to kiss the white pebbles
that line the long shore.

She holds out a hand
as if to a friend,
but as I approach
black and white seem to
blend till the girl who
is stood among daylight
and shade seems to melt
in the breeze and like
morning mist fade. The
one who I saw is
before me no more
as ocean waves jostle to kiss the white pebbles
that line the long shore.

I stand for a while
wondering what I
have seen, a girl or
a nymph or maybe
a dream? Then being
a youth I go on
my way, determined
to make the most of
my day; now feeling
strange, a little unsure
as ocean waves jostle to kiss the white pebbles
that line the long shore.

Lost in the muse and
the song of the sea
I wander the strand
feeling buoyant and
free. Then I see far
ahead, lying there
on the beach, being
lapped by the waves at
the tide’s highest reach –
an upturned canoe –
and here lies a shoe
beside a boat’s oar
as ocean waves jostle to kiss the white pebbles
that line the long shore.

Beyond lies a girl,
bedraggled and wet,
it isn’t with rain
nor is it with sweat.
Too late to save and
no-one to cry she
lies on her back and
stares at the sky… I
watch from afar as
they take her away,
a callow young man
with nothing to say.
What can I do more
as ocean waves jostle to kiss the white pebbles
that line the long shore?

It’s many a day
I wander alone
by river and hill
over bracken and
stone then into the
wood where the spectre
once stood. There a voice
full of sorrow, a
voice full of scorn, sobs
“you left me to drown
on a soft summer
morn.” Next I find myself
here at the spot on
the beach where she floats
on the tide just out
of my reach. Now she
rises on high while
she beckons me fore
as ocean waves jostle to kiss the white pebbles
that line the long shore.

 

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