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LITTLE GLEMHAM

Glimpses of lawns where nightjars churr,
Breaths of dusk, the sudden stir
Of moth or ghost, shadowy trees
Remember these?

Patterns of bats about the eaves,
Shapes that imagination weaves
Of hair and intertwining night
Bring back delight.

Silent as eye and motionless
The moment turns to nothingness
Of chill and sigh demanding why
We said goodbye.

      Alasdair Aston

November 19, 2011 8:56