Thankyou @StuF for letting me stroll in your park..
My book keeper knits, but her face is far away. . . .
K N I T T I N G
Brumbies ran wild in her hills far behind
Trains crossing plains places they'll never find.
Click clack of needles old chair where she sits
Voices in dreams hold her hands as she knits.
The styles that's trapped in the worn vinyl tracks,
Friends never called when she fell through the cracks,
of the floorboards to cellars so dark that you're blind
As you weave your last threads in the webs of your mind.
Paperbacks laughing by rippling brooks
courted librarians for more than their looks
For snapping sound dull thud of dusty dead books
for not we knew queens could fall victim to rooks
Come the last days of the hour glass sands
Bleeds on her knees face melts in her hands.
The quilts that we weaved for our love ones to see
whispering were we all we could be
The waiting of woman and rhythms of knitting
was love we bestowed on them true love befitting
The years that they silently distantly gaze
For silhouette riders in a red sunset haze
From places where lovers entwined in the threads
Now doodle on note pads in cold empty beds
There are no more brumbies just fire swept hills
Nor train tracks through the ashes of the eyes window sills
Neath cinnamon ceilings in white coats they fuss
Slashing the seats on the bar windowed bus.
Will dreams spun of silk cradle fruits on her truss
will love we once gave find its home back in us.
tonys moonbase 1
there just love.. this life , and us.. May all else waste in the shadows..
@Sophia1 @Oaktree @Bunniekins @LeChuck @Appleblossom @Thyme @Owlunar n all
Also Juddi Very best wishes to all..
The styles that trapped
