Gate
My mother had this poem displayed in her home office for years and I love it so she found it for me and I'm posting it for poetry month.
Gate
There's no track of a hedge,
no trace of a fence.
In the middle of a field
an iron gate and no evidence
of path or passage.
It clings to rusty hinges
on chiselled stone,
it hardly infringes
on the course of stock --
for cattle a pair
of scratching posts,
for the colt and chestnut mare
a nuzzling place where you pause
and again you contemplate
in the middle of open grazing
your fate
by a gate that stops nothing
and points nowhere....
Say for a moment
the field is your
life and you come
to a gate at the centre
of it. What then?
Then you pause. And open it. and enter.
Peter Fallon
This entry is also posted at http://ceitfianna.dreamwidth.org/330828.html. Please comment wherever you'd like.
Gate
There's no track of a hedge,
no trace of a fence.
In the middle of a field
an iron gate and no evidence
of path or passage.
It clings to rusty hinges
on chiselled stone,
it hardly infringes
on the course of stock --
for cattle a pair
of scratching posts,
for the colt and chestnut mare
a nuzzling place where you pause
and again you contemplate
in the middle of open grazing
your fate
by a gate that stops nothing
and points nowhere....
Say for a moment
the field is your
life and you come
to a gate at the centre
of it. What then?
Then you pause. And open it. and enter.
Peter Fallon
This entry is also posted at http://ceitfianna.dreamwidth.org/330828.html. Please comment wherever you'd like.