To R.H.
The Bamboo rattles at my brain.
That tough and stalky grass bends
In the spiny rain.
Pine needle sharp it is a tempest of a gale.
I wander 20 miles from the chinook.
I’m looking for a lily cup
To hold my rosy wine.
And there… beside a plain grey stone
I look up at a dark and shifting sky.
And from the gloomy owls of night,
My thoughts are with you friend of friends.
Ailing, declining,.. lying supine;
You are a fading leaf upon the vine.
And as I think upon this state of being ill…
The night becomes
a place of cold and bitter chill.
Oh crazy life, mortality,
and scary immortality,
That fiddly Fiddler’s Fife…
The candle flickering out.…
What is it all about?
To R. ….. Kristine Byrne.5th Dec, 2019