GLORY PASSES
All the mountains have walked away.
The hills, stirred themselves and flown.
Nothing remains but clouds and mist.
Rivers fall straight from heaven.
Forests, hushed and silent now, listen.
Distance is the well of Time.
I sit without words, empty,
(Though words themselves
Are hollow flocks).
They graze and move on,
Ineluctable patterns,
A partial view of constellations:
Midnight cloud.
It is a virtue to forget,
To remember and to forget oneself.
A virtue to see what is without compare.
Unremarked, glory passes
As sun and storm on a Spring day.
Jewelled with light the bare branches,
Silver and dark the upland roads.
The sky laughs at the invention of morning,
Rises up as mountains return
Refeshed and glistening,
World without end.
—
simonhlilly 