Occasional Impressions

Gemini Twin

In from the haze at the moor’s edge...

In from the haze at the moor’s edge
                  came the minstrel.
He had crossed its stillness and menace,
Though the silence mocked at his singing;
         for he followed the way of his vision.

The loneness of him beckoned to us,
                  drawing us.
His playing resounded in richness;
         it challenged - reminding
Of things better hidden, lest dust of them buried
         should rise up and choke us -
                  and we grew afraid.

And so to our jeerings of scorn
                  and revilings,
The minstrel, still playing his clear notes,
         departed - but took all joy with him.
Then once more, our hearts bore
         their burden of silence.
jeh

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