Only Connect

The sting of the wind
On this cold spring day
Reminds me of my
Ancestors who rode
This same wind
As they trudged to work
On early shift.

This connection, now, is
In my blood
Deep in what I mean
When I say these words
In tones that rhyme.

Words that would’ve
Carried meaning in those
Hungry days
When this same old
Mottled sky’d
Pleased the eye of
Those infected with
These old discontents.

So, in this frail copse
Of poplar trees and
Hawthorn bushes
A moment’s respite
Is offered me
As I watch these birds
Swing into this ghost
Ridden air

And, just for a
Moment,
I’m not there.

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