A Shrouded Song Poem by Barry Middleton

An incantation waits from me,
not melodies of long ago,
and not love songs in afterglow.

I remember these and more.
I still recall the measures past
the metronome could not outlast,

the rustic note of hill and grove,
the tune of Sunday afternoon,
the ballad of an amber moon.

I know I can't go home again.
My river flows with harmony.
Its final verse will set me free.

I gaze on stars as darkness falls.
I know the silence holds for me
a rhapsody of minor key.

Though all of life is interlude,
the future hides at evening time,
a shrouded song, a pantomime.