She reads the forest into life…

She reads the forest into life,
Then breathes the silvan air —
The woodland of eternity,
That’s ever-always there —

And characters spring up and move,
As stories start, then end —
For nothing is as real, as when
It’s made out of


Raegan, Reading

He’d see her reading on the quad,
Sometimes, beneath a tree –
About the Cloths of Heaven, or
The Isle of Innisfree —

And when she spoke, her voice was like
Some distant, magic place,
And somehow, with ancestral ear
He’d catch the smallest trace

Of what it was to know your land.
To know, and, feel a part
Of somewhere that he’d never been
That still was in

His heart

when changes come

when changes come we cannot see,

we often think we know, but don’t;

when feelings come we’ve never felt,

we think we’ll mark them, but we won’t.


our own lives aren’t a perfect guide,

for all analogies break down —-

when changes come that overwhelm,

all we can do is be