Poem

Children of the soil
who cannot understand
their world has gone
to dreams of yesterday.

They took their breath
when where it came
one soft simple day
when all was new to them.

One child on its journey
in land now full of thistles
where once the snow-drop sang
and sun-light drifted through.

The lakes are walked together
in seasons as they run.
We cannot catch the snow-flake
nor rain-drops as they fall.

We cannot stop the grey
or skin-flakes come to that.
We cannot find the rain-bow
or anger when it comes.

It is the children of our morrow
that must take up all our dreams
then touch them one by one.
until their day is done