March 1993

Beside the river of discord the insects hurt,
Before the moment of death the old ones mourn,
Inside the meaning of wanting, needing the old ones fore speak,
Beside the river once more, this of our imagination your past enemies speak,

In the stillness, a calm of unfound discord the spirits shall breathe,
Under a cloudless sky of words and minds the young ones seek,
In the stillness of questioning; the men hurt and regret,
On the rock bed of understanding the seasons shall whisper,

On this ground of death the waves will mourn,
In the moonless, the darkness of birth this bard hurts,
Before the day of discord that the dreamers seek,
Never in the ending of our true place.

Ian V. Seymour ©1993

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