Greg Davidson Poems

Voice 1: Gently is a rain that falls,

Voice 2: Gentle as a tear to cheek.
Voice 3: Falling as do tears on cheek.
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He was younger than the earth about
Still older than the trees,
As constant as the stars above,
Elusive as a breeze.
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It’s Friday, at the close of day,
Homeward bound, on a crowded motorway.
My half-made plans in disarray,
Align like crimson lights along the road.
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Wisps of cotton clouds drift across a pale blue sky
And send a fleeting shadow to the mat of rolling green beneath.
We sit alone, my God and I,
The silence bringing soul relief.
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Will you come to me in lavender and green?
With bells about your feet,
And music in your step,
When you come to me in lavender and green.
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Bring me not those words of Winter,
That icy breath, cold and bitter
Faces flushed and tear laden eyes
A cutting blast and joy’s demise
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Clatter, growl and grumble,
Through the roundabout they rumble.
Cars and trucks and motorbike,
All slalom through with mixed dislike.
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It's six A.M., near break of day.
Warm beneath my blankets I stay.
I hear the traffic blocks away,
Whining on their ribbon of grey.
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