(1894-1963 / Godalming)

Points And Lines

Instants in the quiet, small sharp stars,
Pierce my spirit with a thrust whose speed
Baffles even the grasp of time.
Oh that I might reflect them
As swiftly, as keenly as they shine.
But I am a pool of waters, summer-still,
And the stars are mirrored across me;
Those stabbing points of the sky
Turned to a thread of shaken silver,
A long fine thread.

User Rating: 5 / 5 ( 0 votes )

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.