The Loch

 

There is no moment that remains the same,

But from the sky an alteration comes.

The grey and blue on water make their claim.

The power below to the power above succumbs.

Sometimes a mist all sight of hills precludes.

In other times bright sun a view gives sight

Of fields that passing flowers of spring includes.

None stays.  All sweetness passes into night.

Yet stillness in the rocks and hills remains.

No moments here, for ages give but little change.

The rising sun still gives the seed its gains

The laws of nature stay within their range.

The stillness covered by a fickle face

Gives peace, despite life’s rampant pace.

 

Peter M. Grinham © 10.7.’14