I’ll lead you in
with Miserere
soaring trebles
to bend your heads
tingling hairs
you are supposed
to be sad to see me go.
In reverie
the cello and the harp
thistle and the rose,
here’s where you cry,
not for me
the music you fool,
blink quickly
curse me slowly.
As you shuffle out
glad its over,
just the awkward
shake of hands to go,
I’ll hang back
alone
to catch the strumming
chords on
Hergest Ridge.
Graham Sherwood 03/2015
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