Solitary among themselves-
They are not waiting,
They are no more-
They are but ghosts of the moor…
I stand waiting,
Waiting for the end of a circle,
And the beginning of a ripple,
There are ripples In the air.
and the ground is weathered from many walks.
I stand,look and see,
The gap in the trees,
Where everyone goes,
But no one knows what will be,
Through the cloudy sea of the air,
The light change’s my sight,
And the gap grows smaller,
Yet everyone fits,
Because it’s smaller like a funnel,
That can not be fixed.
The rusty orange air can be seen,
Above a building, framed an organic picture,
This is all through the gap in the trees,
That everyone knows,
And everybody goes.