The Past Is Not Far From Here
The Past is near
The creaking sound of un-oiled cart
wheels crushing tiny pebbles on
the sandy lane as the night drew near.
The prudent eyes of a mule saw me,
hesitated, then carried on walking its
own ancient dream and the old farmer,
afoot beside his friend, murmured
something about the weather and soil.
I left the lane and came upon a field
where contented cattle rested, chewing
cud and sighing into the long night…
Laid down, on soft grass, looked up to
the sky as clouds parted and the moon
sprinkled the earth with a handful of
silver and dogs wailed their sorrow
up to the light of their God.
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