There comes into my mind, recalling folk
With whom we spent ten happy summer days,
Oblivious to each measured pruning stroke
That Time was lopping from us with the rays
Of each day’s setting sun, a warmth for ways,
For gentle ways and tender words, a pure
Unasking faith, a gladness that displays
Its quiet restfulness in life demure.
There comes into my heart as if to cure
The modern fret, the latest dire unease,
A longing for a harbour so secure
As Ballajora offered to the seas.
But, lest we should suppose that bliss can last,
That world rang out to war drums and bomb blast !
Mona’s Herald 7.2.61