Alone On a High Ridge
My spirit flew away to far off lands,
travelling over hills and vales,
o'er seas and deserts dry,
until it arrived high
on a cold chain of ridges,
where soft winds caressed my face,
freshness embalmed my inner self.
Perhaps that's why I saw her there, alone
lying on her back, gazing up at the sky
savouring the exquisite joy of silence.
For in that treasured tranquillity
dreams have room to spiral
from the depth of her eidetic memories
renewed and revived, never forgotten.
Out of that quietude she heard
the soft voice of her essence,
reflections of her life,
the joys of motherhood,
the fulfilment of love,
the pangs of parting,
the pain of illness,
the weakness of humanity,
the dreams and emotions
that ebbed, flowed and ebbed again.
I knew she left her home town
deserting her desolate living
renouncing all the humdrum of city lights.
No wonder she flew away
seeking refuge on a mountain side,
above a cascade of water,
lying on the sweet grass
that bordered the lonely stream.
For here she was at peace.
Relief tears trickled down her cheeks:
she could never really forget.
My spirit felt for her for I could feel
that deep inside her was beauty never bound.
I knew despite her tears,
she was happy there:
oh, that she could remain
on that pretty mountain nook
holding tight to hope:
happy amongst the heather
near the tumbling brook
for ever and evermore.
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