14 June 2017
All sound has run dry in my
Words and music no longer flow.
They need eaux de vie,
the waters of life.
Water from a bucket, perhaps,
though I cannot stoop to fill,
nor carry it, without spilling.
A hosepipe, then, though I need
to bend to make the connections
and turn the tap on, and alas,
I am too old and stiff to bend.
Rain, perhaps, though today
it must fall from a cloudless sky.
Who could pray for rain on a day
like today, with sun warming earth
and flowers and my old bones
basking, wordless in the warmth.
I long for the word drought to end.
Silent I shall sit and wait for the word
-well to fill itself with those spiritual
waters flowering and flowing deep within.