The dark green leaves twist in the wind
And bloody berries dance December
Flights of geese bank round the moon
And stars that blinded us remember
The tide has turned, the time has come
To carry back the beauty
For all that love bequeathed us once
Was never ours for losing
Or would you have us waging war
Upon the ground that raised us?
Or by the night sky o'er this loch
Renounce the flames that saved us
In this haven time grows stale
The far sky threatens who knows what
Will we dither by the gateway
Knowing all roads lead to loss?
All our dreams, and all our years
Narrowed down to one last storm
To choose the harbour of our fears
Or the blossom and the thorn
There is a path, there is a chance
Where we'll bleed, but where we'll smile
Where the light and shadow dance
Where the holly still grows wild
4 11 07
She worked as a Saturday girl in a flower shop, and in December would slave night and day making holly wreaths, and come home with her hands like pin cushions. For 19 years we bloomed and bled.a little. Woven through it all: Lochinch woods, lochs and winding lanes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A symbolic reflection that weaves together the bittersweet nature of love and loss...and whilst these people and places may be woven into the fabric of us, that weave may fray, where there is a join or a seam, there will always be a weakness that may or may not endure. To enjoy the bloom, our hearts have to be prepared to bleed...if only a little...a visually strong opening especially with some wonderfully alliterative phrasing throughout.