Lisa

Lisa

Have friends not often passed friends by, In hunting fawns in different glens Returning often homeward to An empty hearth with dry oats laid.

Did friends not often mutter too Of how the pastures wild lay bare When in each others' glance, a million Miles of darkness somehow forbade

That wakening, oh, that youngest spark, Of light to kindle feelings thrawn, The outback, tender clump of hay, And let some breeze be inward drawn.

And when we likewise let the flame That yearly had with laughter passed This odd one-two so cruelly by, The ground could scarcely seconds last.

Raging, angry, angry fire, At last released, did badly scorch All inhibitions in its way In heat, not light, alone a torch.

And like the wildfires passing through Each summer your dry wooden homes We ate the ground, but soon the sea, And burnt ourself with groans.

What now? Though knidling and the flame Each other have consumed and sit Despondent on some foreign shore They can't retred the land erst lit. 80.44.96.2