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Poetry from within
   

Lost in Time


While with a quiet, uncommon grace

The Eden flows through time and place..

The park sits silent hushed and still

St Michael’s stands upon the hill.

How with a curse, a kicking goad

Off into history they once rode.

Where a garrison honed the art of slaughter

A bishop mourned for his young daughters.

What was that tune the organist played?

Contentment, for a moment, found

No shadows fell no gathering cloud.

As I listened on the age-worn step

The winter down the hillside swept.

And, though, a quiet and solemn place

Warm sunlight shone upon my face…

I waited till the clouds took form

Birds grew less muted in their song.

A moment -forever lost in time

Fragmenta of forgotten rhyme.


dedicated to Liz @ Peter

Robert Carson