We float here,
Upon a frosty bowl,
There is only a lingering sigh,
Of the coming and going of this evening.
The Freesia’s song,
A delicate harmony with our own.
Our candle light flickers,
Our truth, still.
In gentleness, we sit with the warmth of this night.
With children in play we were made to be.
Caressing the air that they breathed.
The night dimmed and the song of the child ceased, and
We were here still.
Through the coming of dusk
We became a spectacular peace.
Ours a quiet serenity.
(Wednesday,02 May 2007, Bolton, UK)