Blue smoke crackles, the embers fan gently,
We lie like thieves in the cavern of memory.
The low breeze stops: the full night waits;
Crickets and frogs shrill chorus the vleis,
We lie unmoved, waiting for rain...

In shadows much deeper than darkness lurks
The pregancy of things empowered to change;
On the face of the night, on the earth, unslept,
We lie undreamt, waiting for rain..

Far out of range the dull hills boom,
The close bush creaks, now stirred by winds;
The fire for an instant shows your face:
The uncertainty of things powerless to change.

The thunderstorm passed on the edge of the dream,
And I must have slept, for when I woke, it was dawn:
The fire was cold,
Strange day walked abroad
The years had flown

And you were gone.

Author Unknown

This page last modified on Thursday 18 July, 2002
This page is maintained by Alastair Honeybun at Alastair Honeybun