An unpublished poem, written in the summer of 2011

In the Library.

Billingsley Hall Staffordshire.

While you were sleeping I came down

To savour the cool opiates of silence

And to quietly celebrate

The effortless diffusion of time.

I tried, and failed, to find something to pray for

To fall into some penance of blood and ashes

So I could sit alone, through the long afternoon

And feel some sense of my own star darkening.

In the end I was content just to observe

The afternoon sun burn across the brown lawns

And sit and doze-languidly gazing at

The passing clouds, the soft breeze in the birch trees

Indolently dreaming, waiting for some words to fall

From the mouths of the Elizabethans on the wall-

With the patience of a rose; slowly unfolding.

In the Library.

Billingsley Hall Staffordshire.

While you were sleeping I came down

To savour the cool opiates of silence

And to quietly celebrate

The effortless diffusion of time.

I tried, and failed, to find something to pray for

To fall into some penance of blood and ashes

So I could sit alone, through the long afternoon

And feel some sense of my own star darkening.

In the end I was content just to observe

The afternoon sun burn across the brown lawns

And sit and doze-languidly gazing at

The passing clouds, the soft breeze in the birch trees

Indolently dreaming, waiting for some words to fall

From the mouths of the Elizabethans on the wall-

With the patience of a rose; slowly unfolding.

In the Library.

Billingsley Hall Staffordshire.

While you were sleeping I came down

To savour the cool opiates of silence

And to quietly celebrate

The effortless diffusion of time.

I tried, and failed, to find something to pray for

To fall into some penance of blood and ashes

So I could sit alone, through the long afternoon

And feel some sense of my own star darkening.

In the end I was content just to observe

The afternoon sun burn across the brown lawns

And sit and doze-languidly gazing at

The passing clouds, the soft breeze in the birch trees

Indolently dreaming, waiting for some words to fall

From the mouths of the Elizabethans on the wall-

With the patience of a rose; slowly unfolding.

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