These Are The Moments of Regret
These are the moments of regret
When the warm Sun of a late August warms
And I walk, quiet and quite alone,
In these acres of rural England,
Remembering
When such a walk was a world shared
As we holding hands breathed together
As we lived.
Such sadness
Which is why we dare not linger
To pass the years
As I passed those years, alone, remembering
After her death, her loss, her leaving
And through our words, then, captured an ecstasy
Of grief:
For there was a subtle beauty, there.
Now
A honey bee, crawling
By the edge of this pool:
Dying
As it dies
Slowly, silent, alone, unseen.
Are there any feelings, there?
For me, perhaps too much, too many
For too long
Until two years of work kept me
As I toiled, walking, working, in fields
Where beauty and a kind of silence
Lingered:
Each living being a friend.
But Change came as Change does,
Unkempt, unannounced:
No more then the fields, the toil
To keep me still.
What should I do?
So now I travel as if in travelling to live a type of life
Just as I - we - engage ourselves in action
As for certain in such action
We live another life:
Too much living to remember
Each past, each sad past
DW Myatt