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The Convent Garden

Amused again,
watchful of the flowers walking bye.
I paused beside a colonnade,
and sunk into the sounds floating through the passage ways.
The cowboy hat played songs,
mindless of those thronging around him.
Twilight nestled between the boxes,
and fell upon the cobblestones,
glistening in the march of the changing guard.
Shoppers ebbed away,
with the light of day
-diners hungrily lapped
 with anticipation of the cafe culture,
spilling out of the drinking houses,
making way for the day walkers:
One could stand quite still,
and watch the river run around this hallowed ground.
The poets temple, the actors passion play:
I strolled along darkened streets,
past peoples present tenses,
and came upon a cafe of poetic devise,
Coffee and fellowship the softened vise.
i opened my little book of self made psalms,
my own humble alms.
-a nestled calm.
Beside me visitors gathered,
some from the cobbled streets outside,
others from mountains and peaks,
each shared from the climbs,
 from which they had come.
- A  mountain climbed.
I thought of the journey we had all made,
some from miles above,
others from depths unfathomable,
all crossing the time that bridges and aspires.
There is no greater journey than time.
A meeting point,
from all directions and dimensions.
my convent Garden

Richard Michael Parker 2006

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