‘And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time.’ – T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets
Laid out lulled in luscious green, sweet muslin drawing on the breeze Springtime in our courtyard with the jacaranda tree
Misty mauve effusive, Her visitation draws…
Poetry
DANCER, FIGHTER
The lamp rests steady
Behind a sea of black lingers.
The flame, dances and rides,
Upon the rhythm of passing breeze
Bringing a light,
A little bit of warmth,
To the surrounding darkness.
And for long the flame rages
Neatly seated in her little glass cage,
Petit to any wandering eye
Yet ferocious…