A Shrouded Song - Poem by Barry Middleton
An incantation waits from me,
not melodies of long ago,
and not love songs in afterglow.
I remember these and more.
I still recall the measures past
the metronome could not outlast,
the rustic note of hill and grove,
the tune of Sunday afternoon,
the ballad of an amber moon.
I know I can't go home again.
My river flows with harmony.
Its final verse will set me free.
I gaze on stars as darkness falls.
I know the silence holds for me
a rhapsody of minor key.
Though all of life is interlude,
the future hides at evening time,
a shrouded song, a pantomime.
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