So let us sit a while in the space left between ending and beginning

So let us sit a while in the space left
between ending and beginning

Here where
Nothing grows or ever
Dreams of living

There is a silence here that sings as sweetly as any song
And says that
Love has passed through these fields;
Has passed through and moved on

Here lies a land owned by neither bird
Nor flower -
Beauty has no place here,
Time holds no hour

And so let us sit a while in the space left
between ending and beginning

Here where
Nothing grows or ever
Dreams of living

Spanish Bluebells

Those weeks when the Spanish Bluebells came
As quietly as starlight pouring blue
And brilliant upon
The small bank of earth before my window
Have now passed.

So then the earth is back.
The bare earth.

Between scattered weeds - that I've not
The heart to move -
Crisp packets hunched as old women
Twitch in the late evening wind -

And how the wind howls across this sorry patch of England!
If the rain falls - and it does fall
How the packets crackle like fire!

But they bring none of the joys of fire
And sound as mocking and as uneasy to me
As the forbidden laughter of strangers.