Prospero's Poetry – Verses by Richard Benger

Our Sun, Our Moon

A glittering sun looks west in morning sky, a melancholy moon returns his haughty gaze.

Like a soft drum roll or a bass recorder, the rising moan of a night time wind

At nightfall, trees are nebulous shapes against a darkening sky: fields, hedges and their dwellers at rest, all asleep.

An oldish lady, grey and, bent, walks her bent and grey old dog,

I am older than my parents were when they were young.

When our fellow human beings start to ail, and fail, and fall,

A moment of sight, of sound, of thought, a fleeting glance reveals the world.

The kingdom of the living and the dead, perhaps is somewhere just within our head;

A candle lit for him, a candle lit for her, in quiet amidst twelve shining tongues of light.

Horse-drawn over country they arrived, man with the nation's music in his head,

Push the heavy door, enter into warmth, pass amongst the waiting folk seated in their pews,