October Walk

All views were grey upon the sandy beach,

As I stood there in autumn's misty gloom.

The very sights I knew were out of reach.

I was alone within this fog bound tomb

My sight was so bereft of things I knew,

I thought I stood upon an unknown shore.

Within the mystic vastness slowly grew,

A sense of strangeness and of so much more.

A harmony of unmade sound I heard;

For rhythm, the lapping of the gentle sea,

For tune, the piping of a lonely bird.

This symphony of love was balm to me.

There was a presence in the vast grey space,

The whisper of an unrequested grace

Peter M. Grinham © 29^th October 2012

October Walk

All views were grey upon the sandy beach,

As I stood there in autumn's misty gloom.

The very sights I knew were out of reach.

I was alone within this fog bound tomb

My sight was so bereft of things I knew,

I thought I stood upon an unknown shore.

Within the mystic vastness slowly grew,

A sense of strangeness and of so much more.

A harmony of untamed sound I heard;

For rhythm, the lapping of the gentle sea,

For tune, the piping of a lonely bird.

This symphony of love was balm to me.

There was a presence in the vast grey space,

The whisper of an unrequested grace

Peter M. Grinham © 29^th October 2012