The Work

how long? for what? how long? not sure how long? don't know ... I'll be back when I have a question that has an answer ... I'm back I found the answer when I found the question ... thank you you're welcome

After the Storm

joy after the storm I felt the memory the promise spoken in thunder clapping rain pouring me chasing it down the empty street joy in the storm I felt the memory the promise spoken birch trees swayed drying me dancing as notes rise in the breeze joy before the storm I felt the memory the promise spoken as grey clouds gather me waiting with sparrows in their nests

born in an old house

born in an old house

born in the old church-house 

of a young mother

namesake to a soldier

into a sickly body

a spirit to match the best

threads from the clothes

cords from the coats

gathered from his kin

to weave a blanket for warmth

an old and honourable line

              sons of the British Isles in arms

uncles with brothers all men

they are, everyone, soldiers still

those now in the wind hear tell

before Kings and Queens all stood

in turn going in and out to war

until in service they each did die

this man child, this babe

braver than his frame grew

destined, they say, to carry

war high on his heart to lead

a man must find his way they say

in steps of those gone before wearing

duty's shoes that know only one way

uncharted paths left undiscovered

wrapped in his mantle he found were

threads woven firmly from the past

families were soldiers of many lands

hearts whose beat he made his own

head of the family in succession

carried representing his ancestors

thoughts and loves surely stilled

warm flesh and blood long past feeling

no son for whom to weave a blanket

bereft of one to carry house and honour   

mantled and others seek his martial spirit

memory's pages yellow as life and years fade

Poem by Jane Jones (inspired by the life of General James Wolfe)