Been thinning out some of my old paper copies today and I found this from 2003. I still vaguely remember the dream which triggered it.
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Woodsmoke in the lane.
I smell the woodsmoke in the lane,
the travelling folk are here again.
I take my hat, put on my boots,
to visit as the first owl hoots.
Faces from a previous life,
a girl who never became my wife.
Long dogs drowsing by the fire
gaze mournfully at this 'pen for hire'.
Lines on a palm, tracks on the ground,
a CD plays 'wild fiddle' sounds.
The girl is now another's wife,
he grins at me as he whets his knife.
But people change, and tides move on,
my feelings for that girl have gone.
I read a palm and tell some lies
then it's sunrise as the damned time flies.
The motors start, the tyres churn
as off they go some cash to earn.
Then I awake to loss and pain
for the woodsmoke's only in my brain.
Gyppo - July 27 2003
