I stroll in soft sundown across the cushioned grass,
the earth a pillow I never stopped to consider,
I consider going in, inside to where the light looks neat
and named but a bird calls from a branch I cannot see,
sight comes in second after his song- soft, slow
and cycling back on itself like time, tide and your touch,
at times. Time was never our lover until it left us,
until we saw how quickly we aged in its agonising absence.
The night holds less time, with less light to cast shadow over,
with less sight to see the hands surge around the circle.
I move in circles around this garden of cushioned grass
while the moon comes out to feed, we eat what we can,
sleep when we must, the birds sing songs and only when lost
do we permit ourselves to stop and ask of the meaning.
All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly
Damien B. Donnelly 
Enjoyed this VERY much Dami! and there’s some thoughts here that relate to things that have been in my head too. I spent a few hours y’day writing a ‘poem’ about a memorable hike we did and thought I’d ask you to take a peek. Is it too long and amateur to tweet a link to it on ‘top tweet tuesday’? I used a line ‘But Time is not forgetful’ and wonder if I directly stole it from you? Gotta be alert to my mind playing tricks on me. If you’re kind enough to visit, the link is: https://exploringcolour.wordpress.com/2020/05/18/flying-blind/
I just loved this trip with you. You took me right there and back again to the safety of the car park at the end! I just left a comment- and yes- do tweet this tomorrow 🙏🙏
You’re very kind and you know how much I appreciate you taking the time to do this for me. Thanks ever so much!!!