Far Music
Drifting notes over the great fields of my mind,
I hear them playing in the wind
And all the thoughts I ever held
Will come to me again I feel.
All the ways I ever knew
To hear a note or think of you
I thought I would forget, perhaps
But here they drift in little heaps
And strings of ghostly notes
To me; I sit and in my mind sing
And feel with them again, again.
The melancholy notes I hear within.
The crooning, singing, playing memory
Of wind.
Over land and sea, country to country
Mind to thought and thought to soul
And here whispers one I know...
posted by Gillia Barrows | 9:36 PM
4 Comments:
music is like smell that way, don't you think? suddenly places, people, memories come back that you forgot you had ever had. -n
Yes, exactly. Sometimes somewhere in the recesses of my memory I think I can still here you playing in Grampa's house downstairs, far away. It is so odd. I here Tav playing and it sounds nothing like your style. So I get missing of it now and then, that's all.
I miss it too.
and the sound of familiar voices, telling me things. -n
Wonderful poem...I enjoyed reading it a lot. Wish I had something profound to say but all those years seemed to blur together and time and thought sweep past me like the wind blowing off the lake in Medina in the night during a storm not understanding why but experiencing the effect and wondering where the wind will go next. JB
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