Here, amid the shadows
of resolutely standing stones,
In moonlight too indifferent
to reveal inscriptions,
And in the company and compassion
of conjured ghosts
Who have for so long been toying
with my thoughts,
I should dance above their rest
to acknowledge–celebrate
Those, my benevolent kin,
who would remember me,
The family clown,
who -quipped with clever words
Spoken to elicit laughter
from all too serious them.
With few reservations, I will
join their serious silence, soon
Follow into impartial ground
With just a hint of breathing breeze
stirring through a few dead leaves,
And the moon and I, each in our way,
contesting dark’s supremacy,
I reminisce on those I miss
betokened by these standing stones.
Now, laden with my flippancy,
and with my joking turned to groans,
I am alone … and still amusing
only when pitied in laughter’s tones.
A Hill resident, the author believes that the appreciation of art should not be influenced by the vagaries or prejudices of biography.
