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