Cheshire Patience

By Abel Collins

The breeze sprints ahead of me
Jumping from one bent blade of meadow grass to the next
It rushes in green waves
That pass hissing and whispering to the edge of the field
If I listen in silence
With Cheshire patience
I can hear the song
But I can never discover the secret of the leaves’ words

The song rises and falls
Waking inhuman memories
Of thirsty roots
Joyous flowers
And triumphant seeds
It is a silken voice
Ancient as wind and grass
Yet young with hope and full of life
Ageless soft and sweet
I let the breath of it fill me
Stillness
Peace
I understand why the willows came here to weep
The tears are in gratitude to eternal beauty