These Old Songs

grow in the mind,
their rhymes chiming endlessly
with the sound of feet walking
or rain falling or being taken up
by garden birds, one line at a time.

Landmarks, favourite stones,
reminders of moments
that only history makes important,
we hum them down to immortality

so that now they fence us in
with the faces of lost opportunities,
and all the moons and Junes that ever were
are meadow-larking above England.

by Edwin Brock

Comments (6)

Reminds me of the song THE OLD SONG sung by both DAVID POMERANZ and BARRY MANILOW+++++++++++
grow in the mind, their rhymes chiming endlessly with the sound of feet walking or rain falling or being taken up by garden birds, one line at a time.
Old is always appreciated and missed for its simplicity and purity. Nice poem and Thanks for sharing.
Simply superb poem relating to every one's experience and a reiteration that old is gold. Thanks for sharing it here.
a poem that sounds to improbable to be true? nice write though.
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