Dec 2015
And yet we never know
we cannot tell the hour
time will pass
and time will go
like the breath of evening changing slow
evolving night takes hold
the brightness fades
and into gloom of darkness we glide
which star above us shines
what moon is in the sky
or are there none that see
just when I die
life its ebbing slide
its silver slippered ride
towards the sea of matter
we now divide our beings
that coincide with fate
the breath stops its music
it's never too late to fly
yes fly into the sky
of subconsciousness and see beyond
into the beauty of existence
its own eternity
to take part in life's patterns
its infirmity
Margaret Ann Waddicor 20th December 2015
we cannot tell the hour
time will pass
and time will go
like the breath of evening changing slow
evolving night takes hold
the brightness fades
and into gloom of darkness we glide
which star above us shines
what moon is in the sky
or are there none that see
just when I die
life its ebbing slide
its silver slippered ride
towards the sea of matter
we now divide our beings
that coincide with fate
the breath stops its music
it's never too late to fly
yes fly into the sky
of subconsciousness and see beyond
into the beauty of existence
its own eternity
to take part in life's patterns
its infirmity
Margaret Ann Waddicor 20th December 2015
"My journeys end" my friend wrote, he has Parkinson's more than the 5th degree, and is always saying he will die soon, I wrote these two poems in bed in the night, to cheer him up, I hope!! He sent back his usual butterfly flapping its wings, as a thank you, he cannot write well on the computer. "Your journeys end" and "When the grey horse."
