The Archives

4 May 2008
Kew Gardens, England

It’s grey how London weather leaves its mark
Diffuse clouds summoning up words to write
Vast empty spaces yearning in their void
For some expression that might long endure

With only brief infusions of sun’s glow
There’s few sky wanderings to distract mind
From brief perusals of old brittle tomes
In black script calligraphy of dead scribes

Alive in images they summon forth :
Of knighthood & madness; of love & hate ;
Of suicide & heroes ; & navies ;
So many stories writ ; &, then forgot.