After the War

I set out from the Abbey and I have been walking for some hours. Finally I reached this stream (photograph courtesy of Lyndia Radice) Gregarious birds chatter, dancing amid the trees and I see patterns amid the rippling water as it gurgles over the stones. There are stories here, just waiting to be named and told.



After The War

If I could write
I would write about
when the war ended
I would record how
we threw our ration cards
into the air
and danced into the night
hugging one another

I would marvel
using superlatives
to describe
Little things like
Spring lambs gambolling in the fields
The song of
crystalline Castalian waters
gurgling over ancient stones

I'd tell of
pulling out sheer silk stockings
and my golden organza ball gown
to wear at the celebratory ball
of waltzing
with my one true love
to the sounds of
Horrie Dargie's Rag Time Band

Maybe
After the war
I will write.