Old Songs

Old songs Rippling across the yard like common leaves Stirs me Like the wind stirs trees to drop gold memory I wonder now Where have you all gone, doing what Is it not easy to remember again Do you brush tears like I do a gnat Remembering joy really cause pain. Old songs Let them, spinning through faults and scratch Night longs For stars like chicken in a country yard to hatch Whatever happened to those hens I had I think I know, O too bad, too bad. So bad I was powerless against the broken heart Nature flying, flying like clouds apart. Old songs Let them play, the real unreeling the mind Old songs Playing on the edge of memory deeply blind Tells the recurring tale of Sisyphus labour The filling and outpouring, the empty valour The ever recurring loss, and the storing The collections of our loss, and storing, storing The mood, the visions, memory The ghost and image of history.